


call it like you see it

by lateralplosion



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Exy (All For The Game), M/M, Rivals to Teammates (But Still Rivals), Team Dynamics, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23249134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lateralplosion/pseuds/lateralplosion
Summary: There are some things worth holding onto—a dream, a memory, a racquet in hand.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin
Comments: 55
Kudos: 233





	call it like you see it

**Author's Note:**

> happy renjun day 2020! hope you all enjoy~
> 
> note: just to clarify, this is not an nct recast of aftg! my main focus here is the fictional sport of exy ♡

Renjun's rejection letter comes in the mail.

Even without opening it, Renjun already knows what he'll find, but his body—hardwired for routine, tearing the envelope open with his teeth—is all autopilot, moving without him.

The letter doesn't even take up a page, and Renjun only needs to read the first two lines ( _Dear Renjun Huang: It is with great regret that I inform you that you have not been accepted onto the Team Vision Exy Roster—_ ) before he's crumpling the letter into a ball. Furious tears collect in the corners of his eyes as the official, heavyweight parchment crunches between his palms, sharp and rigid beneath his fingers.

If Renjun closes his eyes, it almost sounds like breaking bones.

He's in the middle of packing when Taeyong calls him, a shrill piercing bite through the air. It's the third time that month. Renjun would have ignored it, but he's in the mood for a fight, snatching his phone off of his dresser and swiping open to answer.

"How many times—" Renjun snaps, about three seconds from hanging up. "Do I have to tell you that I don't care about your stupid club team—"

"Vision rejected you, didn't they?"

Renjun freezes, gripping tight to his phone as ice sears down his veins. He hadn't told anyone else about trying out for Team Vision. Part of it is pride—the power of holding a hidden card—but most of it is fear that he'd never be good enough, that anyone else would just hold his failure against him.

Taeyong's voice holds none of the vindication Renjun had expected, just the sound of a man who is tired and desperate. And for good reason. They've been playing this game for four months now, and Renjun has got this script memorized. Taeyong calls with an offer that Renjun would never accept, and Renjun always hangs up feeling infinitely emptier.

Today, tonight, though—it's different.

"Who told you?" Renjun forces out at last. His voice sounds shaky and foreign to his ears.

"It's hard to miss," Taeyong says wearily, "when a player as talented as you doesn't make the cut."

Renjun doesn't answer for a moment, just takes deep breath after deep breath, trying to steady himself in a world where the floor's constantly getting broken beneath his feet. "Your school doesn't even have NCAA certification."

"Not yet, we don't," Taeyong tells him. "Join us, and we'll finally have enough players to get the certification. Then we can play. You'll see."

Renjun swallows again over the uncertainty that's hardened to a painful lump in his throat. He knows this feeling, he thinks, flushed hot with humiliation. Desperation is not something he regularly allows himself to feel, but just enough for Renjun to recognize its bitter, metallic tang in his mouth.

"I only play striker," he says, a last-ditch effort of pride, almost to himself. Renjun hears Taeyong laugh softly.

"Then you'll play striker," Taeyong says, as if it's that simple. "If your dream is to get onto the Vision roster, you need to get onto the field. This is your only way."

But Renjun knows that things like this are never that simple. In the silence that follows, Renjun rolls onto his back to stare up at his ceiling, wishing that this didn't have to be a choice.

"Come see our court," Taeyong says again, softer this time, almost seductive in his whisper. "Just meet the team. You'll see."

It won't matter to him who his teammates are, or how good they think themselves to be. Things like that have never made a difference to him, because a team could only ever be a means to an end. Ultimately, if Renjun decides to take this chance, he'll know that it wasn't because of any player.

If he had it his way, Renjun wouldn't have had to settle at all. But Taeyong's right, he needs to get onto the field. This much, he knows. He has no other choice.

It takes Renjun a couple of seconds to force the fight out of his words. "You don't really need _me_. You just need a player."

"Renjun," Taeyong says, wry, humorless. "Six months from now, trust me, you won't be able to tell the difference."

Taeyong is waiting for him in arrivals when he gets in, and by then it is far too late for Renjun to change his mind and get back on the plane.

Renjun feels Taeyong's eyes on him almost immediately, gaze snapping up to survey Renjun and his bags.

"We'll need to put more weight on you," Taeyong says, before holding a hand out for Renjun's bag.

Renjun shakes his head. "I'll keep it," he says tersely, even though the strap is cutting into his shoulder.

Taeyong doesn't even blink. "Fine," he says. "Let's go."

Renjun follows Taeyong outside to the parking structure, stopping in his tracks to stare at Taeyong's car.

"What's someone like you doing with a Mercedes Benz?" he asks flatly. He doesn't even try to hide his disdain as he turns his gaze onto Taeyong.

Taeyong gives him a wry smile, popping open the trunk. "What's someone like you trying out for the best exy team in the league?"

A white-hot flush of anger unfurls around the back of Renjun's neck, and Renjun drops his bag angrily into the trunk. "What are you—"

Taeyong lets out a dry bark of laughter, slamming the trunk shut and going around to his side of the car. "Easy, easy. I'll be the first to admit that this—" He raps on the top of the vehicle. "—probably wasn't the smartest decision, but I was young and had credit to spare."

Renjun doesn't say anything to that, just gets in on the other side and bites back his next remark.

Taeyong starts the car and backs out of the parking space, leveling a crooked grin at him. "We all make stupid choices, sometimes," he says quietly. "Some people buy cars that they can't afford, and some people, well—some people try out for exy teams that they know won't take them."

Taeyong is baiting him, Renjun knows he is. But it still doesn't stop the anger from bubbling up inside his throat, thick and viscous and hot like oil, or from Renjun whipping around in his seat, hackles raised.

"Save it," Taeyong cuts in before Renjun can say anything, and the challenge is gone from his words. Taeyong just looks tired, a man in his thirties who'd once made the mistake of putting too much on the line. Renjun knows what that feels like. "Save it for the court. You'll get plenty of chances to channel all of this—" Taeyong sweeps his eyes over Renjun. "Into your plays."

It takes Renjun all that he has to swallow it back down, to bite his tongue. He inhales through his nose and sets his jaw. "I'm not playing with them," he mutters.

"Funny," Taeyong says, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. "'Cause I'm pretty sure the paperwork you faxed over last month has your signature on it. Which means that's exactly what you'll be doing."

"I'll do solo training," Renjun fires back. Everything about the whole situation feels so wrong, goes against the very core of himself. "I'll practice extra, if I have to. But I'm not playing with them. There's no point. I'll be gone by next year anyway."

Taeyong makes an odd sound in his throat, and it takes Renjun an infuriating moment to realize that he's laughing at him.

"I'm not fucking around," Renjun snaps.

Taeyong's laughter dies in his face. "I know, Renjun, I know. It doesn't matter, anyway. I'll let Jaemin decide how to handle you."

Renjun crosses his arms and slides down in his seat, staring out the car windows as the city skyline gradually shrinks.

_Jaemin._

Must be captain, he thinks. Must be someone that Taeyong trusts, if he thinks he can put Renjun's fate into Jaemin's hands. Renjun doesn't care. He doesn't care about any of this—not Jaemin, not Taeyong, not any part or player of this worthless club team. All Renjun cares about is exy—the court, getting on, and winning.

Taeyong is rapping his fingers against his steering wheel again, humming an incomprehensible melody under his breath.

The apprehension that's been building in Renjun's chest gets its hand under his lungs, works a gap in, pulls. 

Renjun doesn't respond, watching as the scenery outside turns to green.

"The others should be finishing up practice," Taeyong says, putting the car into park.

Renjun doesn't answer, already out of Taeyong's car and looking up at the stadium with a restless kind of energy. It's been ages since he's last been on a proper exy court, the converted field they shared with the lacrosse team at his junior college a woeful substitute. The thought of playing again on polished hardwood, the painted lines purposeful and dedicated, has Renjun gripping the strap of his bag.

At the sound of footstep, Renjun whirls around to see a player jogging down the stadium steps into the parking lot. He looks strong—arms and legs corded with muscle, sweat-soaked t-shirt sticking to a broad chest.

"Jeno," Taeyong greets him, slamming his car door shut. "I have to drop some things off at Central. Can you show Renjun around?"

Jeno smiles, and Renjun hates it immediately. An oblivious, carefree smile that Renjun distrusts on principle.

"Welcome to the team," Jeno says, sticking out his hand. He wipes his face with the towel around his shoulders. "It'll be great to finally have a full lineup again—"

Renjun brushes past him, ignoring Jeno's hand in favor of trekking up the steps.

"Do you—" Jeno's voice trails off from behind him. "Do you need help with your stuff, or—?"

"No," Renjun says shortly, already ten steps ahead of him, barely processing anything but the ringing in his ears. Footsteps fall heavily behind him as Jeno tries to catch up with him.

"Wait—" Jeno pants, getting a hand on Renjun's shoulder to stop him. Renjun tenses and immediately shrugs him off. "Where are you going—"

"Where's the court?" Renjun demands, fully swirling around to stare Jeno in the face.

Jeno stares back at him, all previous placidity now gone from his face, replaced by hesitancy, confusion.

"The court?" Jeno frowns. "I—we just finished, so everything's all put away and locked by now. I mean, you can join us tomorrow, if you want, but you'd better get to the locker rooms so you can meet the team before they all leave—"

Renjun clenches his jaw. He could not care any less that practice was over, but there's no point of trying to get on the court if the gear and equipment have already been cleared. Jeno must have taken his silence for agreement, because he points over his shoulder.

"Locker room's this way," he says.

And without Taeyong to tell him otherwise and certainly not wanting to get lost in the stadium, Renjun reluctantly follows after Jeno down one of the hallways.

The sound of voices gets louder and louder the deeper Jeno takes him into the stadium, down a half flight of stairs.

The entrance to the men's locker room opens up to rows of luridly green lockers and an animated argument between the two players they find there.

Both of them fall silent upon seeing Renjun, and Jeno gestures.

"Sorry to interrupt, but this is—"

"Huang Renjun," one of the players cuts Jeno off, crossing his arms over his chest. His lip curls up. "He's even scrawnier in person, Jeno. How the fuck do we expect him to get past any defense—"

"Donghyuck—" the other player says in warning. He doesn't smile at Renjun the way Jeno had, nor sneer like Donghyuck. Perhaps this is what makes Renjun hesitate when he extends his hand. "Hi, I'm the team captain—"

"We weren't even a team before Renjun, dumbass—"

Renjun narrows his eyes, glancing down at the hand extended, but makes no move to take it. "Jaemin, then?"

The player's eyes widen as Donghyuck collapses into snickers.

"Oh my god, seriously— _Jaemin_ , captain?"

"I'm Mark," he clarifies, entirely nonplussed by Renjun's straight out refusal.

"Ah," Renjun says, resenting the brief wave of embarrassment that floods his face. "So Jaemin's not—"

"Fuck no," Donghyuck sneers. "If Jaemin were captain, I'd shoot myself in the foot."

Renjun doesn't give a single fuck about the way this team works, but the revelation that he'd been wrong is unsettling him more than he'd care to admit.

"Okay," he says crossly. "So if he's not the captain, then—"

They're interrupted by the sound of a door slamming open, and Jeno grins at someone behind him.

"Ah, Jaemin, Jisung—" he says, nodding. Renjun turns around and sees who he presumes are the last two players. Both tall, one significantly more so than the other, the player closest to him affixing him with a gaze that immediately gets under his skin, rubbing every single inch of him the wrong way.

Jeno claps a hand onto Renjun's shoulder, and Renjun shrugs it off. "Jaemin is our goal keeper. He's brilliant."

Jaemin's eyes narrow as he looks Renjun up and down. And Renjun—though there's no reason why he should be feeling so defensive—scowls deeply.

"Taeyong recruited you," Jaemin says, in a low and steady voice. It's not a question.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Renjun retorts, glaring up at him.

Jaemin arches an eyebrow. "So you want to be here?"

Renjun scoffs. "Of course not."

"Thought so," Jaemin says, going over to the wall of lockers against the back wall. "I'll save you the trouble then—I have no use for players who refuse to work with us as a team."

Donghyuck makes a low sound of acknowledgement in his throat, Jeno biting down on his lip.

"I—you don't think we should give him a chance?"

Jaemin throws Jeno a sharp look. "You think he's giving us one?"

Jeno glances at Renjun, who only continues to glare, and wilts under his gaze.

The tension in the air feels alive and livid, like a wire sliced open. None of the faces looking back at him hold any signs of welcome, but Renjun is just about done with the conversation, turning away to cast a disparaging eye over the wall of lockers.

"Where do I put my stuff?" he demands, and for a moment, no one moves.

Jeno shifts to the side, revealing a locker behind him. "It's here. Your gear is still coming," he says uncertainly, and Renjun frowns, stepping forward to jiggle the handle.

"Where's the lock?"

"There are none." This answer comes from Jaemin, who had sat down on the bench against the back wall. He crosses his arms. "We don't need them," he says flatly, brows furrowing as he stares up at Renjun. "Because we trust each other."

Renjun glares back at him. "I don't trust you." He looks around. "I don't trust any of you."

Mark clears his throat uncomfortably. "Well, we'll just have to get you to trust us. You're our teammate now."

"For now," Renjun corrects him, slamming his locker closed and turning around to get right up in Mark's face. Mark pales a little but doesn't step back. "Let me make one thing clear. I have no intentions of playing with any of you. I'm only here to get on the court so I can get recruited. Don't try to play with me. You won't."

Donghyuck sneers. "Whatever, hotshot. Just try to keep up with me."

"Enough," Mark says, frowning deeply now, and takes a step back. "Renjun's one of us now, so whether any of us like it or not we have to deal with it." He looks around at all of them, his gaze lingering the longest on Jaemin, who shrugs.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Jaemin says, before leading Jisung by the arm out of the room.

Mark pinches his nose bridge. "Okay, well. Welcome," he says, turning to Renjun. "Or not, I guess, take your pick. Practice starts tomorrow, so—like it not—you have to be there."

Renjun exhales through his nose. "Noted," he says dryly. Mark seems to be satisfied with this answer, leaving as well.

"Well—" Jeno clears his throat pointedly, looking around. "Coach asked me to take you back to our room."

"Bitch," Donghyuck says immediately. "I thought you were gonna move in with me after Mark graduates."

"Yeah, well, situation's changed," Jeno says, shrugging, before turning to Renjun. "I'm the only one without a roommate right now, so—"

"Should've just kept it that way—" Renjun snaps, yanking his stuff away before Jeno could lean down to help. "I don't want any roommates."

"Tough luck," Donghyuck sneers. "Athletes need to be housed together."

"He just said he didn't have one," Renjun protests, jerking his head in Jeno's direction.

"Right," Jeno says quickly, cheeks flushing an anxious pink. "So that's why I've been dorming with Jaemin and Jisung. Until now—" 

Renjun rolls his eyes, shouldering his bag. He doesn't say a single word as Jeno takes him to the student housing buildings. It's only when Jeno finally unlocks the room that Renjun steps in to look inside.

The room is far too small for his liking. Not that Renjun has particularly lavish taste—it's that less space in the room means that he'll have to spend more time in very close proximity to Jeno. He's already eyeing his bed, trying to figure out the barest minimum amount of time he could spend in here as possible.

Jeno's things are in boxes on the floor, presumably whatever what was moved from where he'd been living with Jaemin and Jisung, and he immediately starts unpacking them, quietly moving to his side of the room.

Renjun turns his back on Jeno, taking a look at his bed with a quiet distaste. He would have preferred something lofted for more privacy, but he's not about to make a fuss with Jeno still in the room.

Perhaps the lack of noise from his side of the room had caught Jeno's attention, because Jeno is turning around hesitantly. "Uh," he begins, glancing over at Renjun's bags, both of which are quite small. "Do you need any help?"

"No," Renjun mutters, and zips his bag open to start taking out some things.

For a little while, this seems to satisfy Jeno, but after another few minutes of just unpacking, Jeno's turning around again.

"So you probably played in high school?"

Renjun turns around to give Jeno a glare. "Does that matter?"

Jeno withers back immediately. "I—I guess not," he concedes. "I'm just trying to get to know you."

"Well, don't." Renjun slides closed the last of his drawers, now fully finished unpacking. The silence that follows after that is slightly uncomfortable, just the sound of Jeno's breathing.

"Okay," Jeno says. "Then—is there anything you want to talk about?"

Renjun turns around to give him a critical look. Jeno meets his eyes, inquisitive and eager. "What's Jaemin's deal?"

Jeno smiles. "Jaemin? He's absolutely incredible. I can't wait until practice tomorrow—you should see him and Donghyuck. They've got this crazy field pass—"

"I don't care about your team or practice or whatever—" Renjun says impatiently. Already he is beginning to hate this tiny, enclosed space with Jeno, who is already too full of questions for Renjun's liking. "I just want to know why Jaemin acts like he's in charge of the team when Mark is captain and Taeyong is coach."

Jeno lets out a small, nervous laugh. "Ah, well, Jaemin—he's got something that not a lot of us have, you know?"

"I highly doubt that," Renjun says dryly. "I don't see what's so special about him."

"You will," Jeno says earnestly. "You will, trust me—I know he can come off a little... strong at first, but he's amazing. He keeps the team together."

Renjun arches an eyebrow. "Then why isn't he the captain?"

"Mark's our backbone," Jeno says, shrugging. "Jaemin can run a little hot sometimes, but Mark will always keep his cool. Plus, Jaemin will listen to him on occasion." At this point, Jeno shakes his head just a little, smiling slightly. "Which is kind of a big deal."

Something lurches in Renjun's gut, and he presses his mouth into a thin line. "But you all listen to him?"

Jeno shrugs again. "We have good reason to. Jaemin has the best sense in the game."

"Is he expecting me to listen to him?" Renjun challenges, crossing his arms.

Jeno gives him a confused look. "What do you mean?"

Renjun rolls his eyes and ignores him, instead climbing into bed. It's barely eight in the evening, and he hasn't gotten ready for bed in the slightest, but he's decided that he's done listening to Jeno for the night. Luckily for him, Jeno seems to get the memo and doesn't press the question. For a little while, the soft noises of him unpacking resume behind him, until Jeno turns off the light and plunges the room into darkness.

At some point, Renjun rolls over onto his back to stare up at the small portion of his ceiling illuminated by the outside lights. To his left, Jeno snores softly. The lurching in his gut continues, and Renjun frowns at the light and shadows up above him, trying to figure out how he'd ended up here at a school he didn't want. At a school whose name he'd barely ever paid attention to—all of his focus and goals in a laser-beam line pointed at the ultimate dream, at Team Vision. The thought of playing exy at this level on a team that's not Vision is like getting sucker-punched in the solar plexus. But as much as he is loathe to admit it, deep down Renjun knows that Taeyong is right.

If he wants to get recruited, then he needs to be visible. And the only way he'll ever get that visibility is by getting on an exy court, where he'll be open to the eyes of the world. It's not what he wants, but it's what he'll take. He's no stranger to sacrifice—will concede where he has to. That's what dreams are about: giving an inch, hoping for the chance to take a mile. Even though giving—giving in, giving up—is not written into the lexicon of his body, even though this just might kill him, Renjun will take this for now.

Renjun will take whatever he can, and then some.

Jaemin crosses his arms, looking out across the court at all of them. "Renjun," he says. "Move back closer to Mark."

"Why?" Renjun demands, whirling around to face him. "I'm not a back liner. I'm a striker."

"Thank you for that," Donghyuck simpers from his position up closer to center court. "Jaemin's not fucking blind, Huang, he can see that you're a fucking striker."

Renjun inhales sharply. "Then why the fuck am I being put here on the backline, when I should be up front in a scoring position?"

Jaemin gives him an icy glance, and Renjun tenses for a moment as Jaemin gives him a perfunctory once over, and then goes back to discussing the game play as if he hadn't even seen Renjun there.

"What the fuck," Renjun breathes, temper flaring up hot under his skin. "Fuck this play." Without waiting for anyone else, Renjun goes over to center court on the other side of Donghyuck, ignoring the bewildered and shocked looks from the others.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Donghyuck hisses from the other side. "Get back to where Jaemin told you."

Renjun scoffs and turns around to level a glare at Jaemin. Jaemin, who had not said anything when Renjun broke out of formation, only crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. "Jaemin's not the captain. I'm not listening to anything he says."

"Okay, Renjun," Mark says, also crossing his arms. "But _I'm_ the captain, so do what Jaemin tells you. I know we're all a little on edge because this is the first time we're practicing with a full lineup, but Jaemin knows what he's doing."

"I'm a striker," Renjun snaps, brandishing his racquet. "I'm supposed to be up here, where I can score points. What kind of captain are you if you want us all to listen to someone without any kind of game sense?"

"You piece of shit," Donghyuck hisses, making as if to take a step toward Renjun. "Don't talk to Mark that way—"

"It's okay, Donghyuck," Mark says quietly, holding up a hand, and Donghyuck falls back, before glancing at Jaemin.

Renjun looks at Jaemin too, where he's standing in front of the goal. Jaemin holds his gaze steady, arms crossed across his chest as he surveys the court from his vantage point at the end, and for a moment, Renjun's nerves fail him.

"You're right," Jaemin says evenly. "Putting you further down court renders you essentially useless."

Renjun inhales sharply. "Then _why_ —"

"I'm putting you there because I have no real intention of using you in our gameplay," Jaemin cuts in coolly. This must have been overboard for even Jaemin, because Mark turns around in shock.

"Jaemin, now that's a little—"

"Harsh?" Jaemin's brows furrow together. "You heard him yesterday. He's not a team player. Why would I put him a scoring position if he's not going to integrate with the rest of the team? I have no use for a player like him."

"What the fuck are you trying to say," Renjun snaps.

"No, actually, I think Jaemin has a point," Donghyuck interjects, turning to Renjun with a nasty glare. "I don't wanna fucking pass to this asshole who thinks he's somehow saved our team just by being our last player."

"Nothing can save this piece of shit team," Renjun fires back. "I don't even want to fucking be here."

Jaemin's eyes flash dangerously. "Fine, then get off the court."

"Fuck you," Renjun snaps. "Don't tell me what to do." And before anyone can say anything else to him, Renjun grabs one of the balls from the rack and jogs over to the far, unoccupied end of the court. His hands won't stop shaking as he begins a simple solo practice routine, hitting balls against the plexiglass wall, making an outline around the goal.

For a few moments, the silence behind him swells like a tidal crest, but soon the sounds of practice resume. Tentatively, Renjun glances over his shoulder, accidentally making eye contact with Jeno. Mouth flattening, Renjun goes back to his solo practice.

A few minutes later, he hears footsteps behind him.

"Hey," Jeno says quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You want anyone to practice with? It's free training time right now."

"No," Renjun says rudely, turning away from him. "Go away."

He doesn't get Jeno's reaction, nor does he really care. Jeno's receding footsteps tell him that he's left to go back to the others.

At the end of practice, Renjun reluctantly follows the others into the locker room, glancing up at the bleachers to see Taeyong sitting there with his notes and an incomprehensible expression.

Flushing hot at the back of his neck, Renjun ducks into the locker room. He determinedly doesn't look at anyone, despite feeling the weight of everyone's gaze on his back, trying to get changed and leave as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, Jeno comes up to him just as he's shrugging on his hoodie. "Hey, Renjun—" Jeno tries a hesitant smile. "Uh, sometimes we like going out to eat after practice. I was wondering if you wanted to come with us?"

Behind Jeno, Donghyuck lets out a loud scoff. "I'm not inviting him, Jeno. Leave that sorry bastard alone."

Renjun slams his locker shut. "I don't want anything to do with any of you," he says, leaving before Jeno can say anything else.

Renjun's already changed and in bed by the time that Jeno comes back into the room, and he rolls onto his side to face the wall.

Behind him, Renjun thinks he might have heard Jeno sigh softly, before the sound of a backpack zipper opening.

Renjun stays like that for the rest of the evening, not even bothering to touch his textbooks or do any of his assignments, even though he already has some due next week.

Somewhere, close to midnight, Jeno calls his name—softly, as if he didn't want to wake him. But Renjun doesn't answer, and Jeno finally gets up to turn off the light once again.

"Renjun," Taeyong says, folding his arms across his chest. "I don't care what the fuck you do off the court, but when you're on here, you're mine."

"Just kick him off the team, coach—" Donghyuck snaps, tossing the ball in the air and catching it in the net of his racquet. "He's not worth our time."

Renjun clenches his jaw, eyes flicking up to Taeyong's stony expression.

"I recruited a player whom I recall was extremely worth our time," Taeyong says, voice low and steely. "But if you're not here to play with your team, then you can start running laps."

It's an ultimatum, Renjun knows. He's no stranger to these—has learned how to play his motivation and desires against each other, his heart a bargaining chip. Renjun's will won't be so easily tempered. With a low scoff, Renjun throws his racquet to the glossy paneled floor, a metallic clang resounding throughout the court stadium. He immediately breaks out into a bracing jog, though not before casting a backwards glance at Jaemin behind him over his shoulder. Jaemin's face is stormy, eyes never leaving his, disgust and dislike curling thick over his features. Renjun breaks gaze, launching himself into a full on sprint.

For a few moments, the only noise echoing throughout the stadium is the squeaking sound of Renjun's trainers on wood, until the sounds of practice begin to resume, and they begin to play again without him.

Renjun hunches over, hands on his knees, and tries to catch his breath. Behind him, the others are putting away equipment, Jeno and Jisung strapping their racquets down onto the wheeled rack, Jaemin in a deep conversation with Taeyong. Renjun's racquet lies, untouched, at the edge of the court. Renjun stands up, his legs wobbly, but he's got most of his wind back. He waits until Jaemin starts off towards the locker room with the rest of the players before approaching Taeyong.

Taeyong looks up from his clipboard of notes as Renjun approaches. His face sets into a grim smile. "You can certainly run," he comments dryly.

Renjun ignores the way the comment burrows its way into the soft underbelly of his pride. "I want to stay for a little while."

One of Taeyong's eyebrows arches. "What for? Decide that you finally want to play?"

But Renjun won't let himself get baited. "If you won't let me, just say so."

For another moment, Taeyong holds Renjun's gaze, staring him down, before sighing. "Fine. You have the key, so be sure to lock up when you're done. The equipment will already be put away, so just store your things in your locker."

Renjun doesn't even reply, pivoting on his heel to go back to where his racquet is laying on the ground, sweeping it up. The balls have already been packed away with the rest of the equipment, but Renjun is prepared, producing one from his jacket pocket, having swiped it earlier at the very beginning of practice when no one was looking. If Taeyong notices, he doesn't say anything, instead standing to watch Renjun for a few moments, before finally leaving.

Renjun bounces the ball a few times, swings his racquet. The solid, unwavering feeling of the stick in his hands. Light and sturdy aluminum, the swoosh of the net through the air. Despite himself, a grim smile spreads across his face. He pockets the ball in the middle of his net, widens his stance, and gets to it.

The next few practices follow the same, tedious rinse-and-repeat cycle. Most of the time, Renjun doesn't even bother going into warm ups with the rest of the team, just eases himself into the easy pace of a jog around the perimeter of the court.

Sometimes, he finds himself watching the others play with each other, the ricochet of the ball from Donghyuck to Mark, Jeno to Jisung, then to Jaemin. Jaemin's stance in front of the goal, low to the ground, shoulders a straight line of defense, his goal keeper's stick held loose and easy in his hands. But he never stops to look for more than a few seconds. Pushes back every small twinge of longing to play, continues to put one foot in front of each other, runs even faster.

And then—at the end of those two hours—after everyone else has left and Renjun is alone with his thoughts, his focus, the silence, only then does he pick up his racquet and begin to practice, alone.

It's another evening like this. He's about half an hour into solo practice of hitting balls off the plexiglass walls when the squeak of trainers on wood resounds behind him.

Renjun whirls around sharply, coming face to face with Donghyuck, still in his gym clothes, and Jeno. Immediately, Renjun's gaze falls to Donghyuck's racquet, which he has perched over his shoulder, and Jeno, who is holding a goal keeper's racquet.

"What are you doing here?" Renjun snaps before he can stop himself.

Donghyuck scoffs, reaching into his pocket and turning it inside out, a few balls tumbling out onto the floor. "You've got some real nerve," he tells him. "Thinking you can just keep fucking around with all of us like this."

Renjun crosses his arms. "No one asked you to be here. Go home."

"Fuck you," Donghyuck says easily. "This is just as much my court as it yours. You know, I've been watching you. You can run, can't you? I already know that your sorry ass isn't getting any, but that stamina's gotta be good for something."

Despite himself, an immediate, horrifying burst of heat envelops Renjun's face, lips curling back in a snarl. "What the fuck did you—"

"Donghyuck, try not to piss him off," Jeno wheedles, gripping the goal keeper's racquet with both hands. The sight alone is strange enough that Renjun forgets about the insult for just a moment. Why would Jeno have this racquet? A strange, prickling feeling ghosts the back of his neck, and he immediately glances around to see if Jaemin is waiting in the shadows, somewhere.

Donghyuck snaps his fingers impatiently in front of him. "He pisses _me_ off, but whatever. Okay, Huang, so this is how it's gonna go. If you're as nuts about exy as coach says, you've probably got a raging boner to play against a goal keeper right now."

With great reluctance, Renjun turns back to Donghyuck, glaring at him. As much as it pains him to admit it, Donghyuck is right. Donghyuck knows. Renjun knows that Donghyuck knows, because Donghyuck is also a striker. And, more than anything, strikers just want to score.

"Uh," Jeno begins, stepping forward. "I trained for goal keeper when I was in high school, but I swapped out to back liner during my last year. I'm not as good as Jaemin, but I can stand in for some practice plays."

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. "Jeno's actually pretty decent, and until both you and Jaemin get your heads out of your asses, he's as good as you're going to get. So what do you say? Want to score some points?"

Renjun's face burns with indignation, but more than anything he hates how Donghyuck's words cut him down to the core. Of course he wants to score points. That's the whole point of being a striker. And he hates that Donghyuck could isolate his wants so easily, offer them to him on a platter away from the discerning eyes of both Jaemin and Taeyong. Renjun would be an idiot to not take him up on the offer. He looks from Donghyuck's impatient expression to Jeno's anxious one, and grits his teeth.

"Fine," he says. "Fifteen minutes, then I'm going home."

Donghyuck's smile is like a knife's edge, flashing bright and wicked. "If you can get a single point past me, I'll be impressed."

And Renjun's blood bursts into its boiling point. "Shut up."

It lasts for far longer than fifteen minutes. Donghyuck is as good as he says, but he probably wasn't expecting Renjun to be just as good. Even still, Jeno is able to block Renjun's shots at the goal. It takes Renjun a whole twenty minutes to break through, all but physically throwing himself at Donghyuck to gain possession of the ball, and aims. Jeno swears softly as the wall lights up behind him in red.

"Shit," Donghyuck pants, wiping his forehead. "That would've been a yellow card."

"No, that's just play," Renjun fires back, his breath coming heavy between his words. It's getting late, but he hates how his body is just starting to get fired up, hates how Donghyuck was absolutely right. The thrill of trying to wrestle a ball away from another player, trying to score around the hulking figure of the person in front of the goal. Renjun has been wanting this, badly. But the last thing he'd do is admit to Donghyuck that he wants to keep playing with him.

"I told you," Jeno wheezes, letting go of the goal keeper's racquet with a great clatter. "I told you he was good."

"Yeah, yeah," Donghyuck says, pushing his sweaty hair back from his eyes. "I heard you the first five hundred times. But—" He turns around to point the head of his racquet at Renjun wiping his face with the hem of his shirt. "He needs to play against Jaemin. That's how we can tell how good he really is."

Immediately, Renjun's barricade goes up. "I'm not fucking playing with him."

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. "So you've said. He's not playing with you either, just for the record."

"But just think about how good we could be—" Jeno says earnestly, his face shining.

Renjun picks his racquet up from the ground. "Don't," he says haughtily. "I'm finished."

Donghyuck lets out a dry laugh. "Yeah, same. Let's go, Jeno."

The next time Renjun shows up at practice, Taeyong takes him aside.

"I've been lenient with you for a couple of weeks now," he says, "but I'm going to put my foot down now. Either you start practicing with the team or I'm kicking you off. As much as the idea of playing with my team kills you, just note that there's no way Vision will notice you if you're not on the court."

Renjun inhales sharply, resentment a wild animal clawing at the insides of his ribs, but he doesn't say anything, as he gets into position on the right side of Mark. He knows that Taeyong is right.

On Mark's left, Donghyuck makes brief eye contact with him, something like a grin flashing across his features. Renjun doesn't return it.

Practice goes as well as one could expect it to go. Renjun spends most of their plays flat out ignoring most of Mark's and Taeyong's directions, instead seizing every opportunity he can to make off with the ball and rush up to the goal.

The first time it happens, Jaemin's features settle into an indelible calm, eyes watching each one of Renjun's moves as he tries to run up to him. All of Renjun's muscles hardwired for the fight, tensing up and waiting for Jaemin to make his move.

But Jaemin doesn't do anything, eyes narrowing as Renjun makes his approach, and calmly lets Renjun score.

"What the fuck," Renjun demands, whirling around to stare at Jaemin. "You didn't even fucking do anything—what the fuck kind of goal keeper are you?"

Jaemin narrows his eyes at Renjun, lips pulling back into sneer. "I know my players' worths. When you've decided to play with them, that's when I'll start blocking for you."

"Bastard," Renjun hisses, but a hand twists into the collar of his shirt, and Donghyuck yanks him back.

"Don't waste your breath," Donghyuck mutters. "He's just as stubborn as you."

The rest of practice follows this strange, tense dynamic. Even though he's now integrating into the team during plays, it feels like he's only playing with three of them—Donghyuck, Jeno, and Mark. Jaemin resolutely refuses to try to block any of his shots, and Jisung remains aloof and stoic unless play necessitates his cooperation.

Donghyuck continues to yell at him, but he also starts to yell at Jaemin whenever he doesn't put up a fight. Renjun resents the idea that Donghyuck would be trying to do him a favor, but the look on Jaemin's face whenever Donghyuck rounds him on is almost worth it.

"Wow," Mark says, a few nights later, and puts a hand on his hip as he surveys the situation in front of him. They're an hour into their strange trio practice, all sweaty and flush-faced from exertion. If Renjun didn't know any better, he'd almost say that Mark looks impressed. "So this is what you've been doing when you said you were doing some late night studying, huh?"

While Jeno at least has the decency to look sheepish, Donghyuck simply just scoffs. "Technically it wasn't a lie. Just not studying schoolwork."

Renjun folds his arms over his chest, and gives Donghyuck a dirty look. "I didn't invite him," he says, jerking his head at Mark.

Donghyuck flashes him a nasty grin. "Technically you didn't invite any of us, but here we are. Just shut up and be thankful."

Renjun turns away, gritting his teeth, knowing that he really doesn't have any other choice. Late-night practice with Mark goes relatively normally, perhaps even better with an additional player to make things a little more complex.

Even Jisung surprises all of them one night, hovering in the breezeway of the court stadium like a shrunken ghost.

Donghyuck clicks his tongue distastefully. "Does daddy know you're here?"

Jisung flushes and grips his racquet. "Not exactly," he mumbles, before glancing over at Renjun. "Can I—?"

Renjun exchanges a look with Jeno before shrugging. "I don't care," he says decisively. He bounces the ball up with the staff of his racquet, then takes the first swing of the night.

Jeno continues to goal keep against Renjun, whose restlessness only grows by the week. But Jaemin continues to not give him the time of day during practice. And, as time passes, Renjun's frustration only grows.

But Renjun's not blind. He can see Jaemin during practice. He can see the way Jaemin plays, enough to know that Jaemin is good. He's extremely good. Renjun despises everything about him and his constructed fantasy family of exy that doesn't exist, but a player like Jaemin is exactly the kind that Renjun wants to play, the kind he needs to learn to score against. He needs to practice with Jaemin for his own game, but knows that Jaemin won't even look at him twice.

Jaemin's not the only good goal keeper in the game. Renjun knows this.

But the rejection digs its claws in anyway. Holds on tight, and doesn't let go.

"I don't want anything," Renjun says crossly, making to stand up from his seat, only to be yanked down by Donghyuck's hand.

"Stop being a little bitch," Donghyuck says pleasantly, and shoves the plate of fries across the table at him. "Just eat."

Renjun scowls deeply, leaning back in his chair and exhaling sharply. Somehow, he'd let himself get cajoled into accompanying Donghyuck and Jeno to the cafeteria on campus. It's not his first time here, but normally Renjun opts for the take-out choice that is offered to athletes with busier schedules. He's never actually sat down in the cafeteria to eat, and he's regretting doing so more and more by the second.

"It's okay, Renjun," Jeno offers him with a warm smile. "The fries aren't going to bite you."

"Maybe he'd eat them if they did," Donghyuck mutters with a snort, and Renjun rolls his eyes, picking up his fork to stab at the plate.

Behind him, Renjun hears the cafeteria door swing open. He takes no mind to whoever just walked in until he sees Donghyuck look up. Renjun turns around.

Jaemin had just walked in with Jisung, and had seemed in the process of making his way over to their table when he locks eyes with Renjun and stops in his tracks. Something incomprehensible flashes across his face.

Donghyuck raises an eyebrow at him, challenging. Renjun frowns, looking back at Jaemin. To make things worse, Jisung raises his hand just the smallest amount and waves. It's such a surprise to him that Renjun finds himself waving back without thinking.

Almost immediately, Jaemin's face darkens, and he abruptly tugs Jisung over to another table.

Renjun exhales slowly, leaning back in his chair. "What the fuck was that?"

Jeno sighs heavily. "Jaemin's not happy."

"'Course he's not fucking happy," Donghyuck says, shaking his head.

"But why?" Renjun demands. "I know he hates me, but what's that got to do with you?"

"You're kind of stupid, sometimes?" Donghyuck asks, annoyed. "He's pissed because we're sitting with you."

"Fuck that," Renjun says. "Not that it matters to me, but Jaemin doesn't have any say in who you sit with. What, does he think this is high school?"

Jeno winces. "Jaemin is—how do I put this—"

"A control freak, if you want to be nice," Donghyuck says with a smirk.

"No," Jeno says. "It's just that—he's selective about his loyalty. You obviously haven't earned it yet, and well—the fact that we're with you instead of him is kind of like—"

"An insult," Renjun finishes dryly, looking over to where Jaemin had pulled Jisung over. Jaemin seems to be in the middle of a scathing berating, Jisung looking especially flustered. "Like a betrayal."

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. "Jaemin's always been a little crazy about the team dynamic. Even more than Mark."

"Whatever," Renjun huffs, stabbing down for another forkful of fries. "I don't care what Jaemin thinks."

"Ah," Donghyuck says, lips curling up into a wry smile. "Unfortunately, you kind of have to. Considering Jaemin is sort of the backbone of our team play."

Renjun knows this. Even still, he can't stop the coil of frustration, of trepidation that uncurls into his belly.

The next day at practice, Jaemin is surprisingly cordial, greeting all of them with a smile that doesn't reach up into his eyes.

"Good day for a scrimmage, don't you think?" Jaemin says pleasantly, his voice light and air. "What do you say—me, Donghyuck, and Jisung versus Renjun, Jeno, and Mark?"

Donghyuck wrinkles his nose. "What the fuck has gotten into you? Why are you trying to be nice?"

Mark, however, is nodding approvingly. "Actually, I think that could be really good. I'll ask coach if we can use the last hour to do a three on three."

As much as he hates to admit it, the idea of a scrimmage has Renjun's stomach doing earnest somersaults in his abdomen. He's on the opposite team as Donghyuck, but he has Mark and Jeno, both of whom he'd practiced with late at night. On the other side of the court, Jaemin stands in front of the goal with his legs bent, racquet grasped loosely in his hands. Renjun is gone as soon as Taeyong lets the ball fly, and he has it in his net, narrowly avoiding Jisung's attempt to knock out of the pocket.

Then it's only mere feet between him and Jaemin, and right away Renjun knows something's different, can see it all along the line of Jaemin's stance, like a spring coiled and wound. Footsteps behind him, Jisung on his tail, but Renjun has the shot, he can make it—

The ball is gone before Renjun can realize what happened—flying all the way down the length of the court to fall, snug, into the pocket of Donghyuck's net. Donghyuck throws as hard as he can, and Jeno lunges, but it's too late. The goal lights up red behind him, and Renjun whirls around, gaping, at Jaemin.

Jaemin straightens up, stares down his nose at him. "Pathetic," he says. "You call that an attempt to score?"

All of Renjun's hairs stand up on end, and it takes all of his self control to turn away from Jaemin's sneering face to walk back toward inner court.

Behind him, Jaemin scoffs audibly. "The audacity of someone like you thinking that they could ever make it onto Vision with a game like that."

Then something inside of Renjun snaps, and the next thing he knows, he's got a fistful of Jaemin's practice jersey, and Jaemin glaring into his eyes mere centimeters away. "Say that again," Renjun's snarling, yanking Jaemin forward so violently their foreheads almost knock together.

"Hey—" Donghyuck and Mark's voices resound behind them, but the only sound in Renjun's ears is the sound of his heartbeat like a roaring fire, Jaemin's ice cold eyes staring deep down into his, his hand clenching into a fist—

Then a strong arm loops around Renjun's middle, and Jeno's pulling him back.

"Renjun, what are you doing?"

Feet away, Mark has Jaemin by the back of his jersey, giving him a stern talking to. The look on Mark's face is angrier than Renjun's ever seen, but it's nothing compared to Taeyong striding towards them from across the court, his brows furrowed in deep fury.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Renjun was going to hit him, Coach—" Jisung says immediately, then bites his lip as if he'd regretted it.

"Jaemin provoked him, Coach," Donghyuck fires back, turning desperately toward Taeyong, who'd folded his arms across his chest.

"They both went at each other," Mark says finally, voice gravelly.

Taeyong pinches his nose bridge, takes a deep breath. "Okay, fuck. You guys leave me no other choice. Renjun, Jaemin—until you two can learn to behave, I'm benching you both indefinitely."

"What?!"

Jeno, Jisung, and Donghyuck all turn to Taeyong in horror.

"Coach—" Jeno starts. "You can't do that—"

"Our first game is in three days, coach—" Donghyuck wheedles.

They all turn to Mark, who'd been fiddling with the lacing on his racquet net. "I agree with coach," he says quietly. "If we're going to be playing like this, we shouldn't be playing at all."

Donghyuck swears loudly, Jeno gaping at Mark in astonishment. But Renjun isn't looking at either of them, instead looking at where Jaemin is still standing in front of the goal, arms crossed. Jaemin meets his eyes, narrows them, and the most intense wave of dislike unfurls in Renjun's gut, boils over.

He turns on his heel and storms off the court. No one goes to stop him.

They all think that Taeyong is joking, but Taeyong's will is unrelenting, strictly keeping both Jaemin and Renjun on the bench throughout the next few practices. Even as they get on the bus to the other campus, Donghyuck seems to be convinced that this has all been an elaborate prank.

"I mean," Donghyuck's saying, hanging over the back of the seat in front of Renjun. "There's no way he'd make us get on a bus and go all the way there just to keep us from playing, right?"

Renjun rolls his eyes and sticks his earbuds in, turning to face the window. The past few days had been completely horrible. Not even being able to join in on practice had started to kill him, even though the thought of doing so absolutely disgusted him at first.

Jeno is sitting next to Donghyuck in the seat in front of him. In the back of the bus, Jaemin is sharing earbuds with Jisung. Up front, Mark and Taeyong are going over something on Taeyong's iPad.

But Donghyuck turns out to be horribly wrong. It's 10 minutes to go, and the other school's representative is standing around anxiously, waiting for Taeyong to hand him the starting roster, and Taeyong still hasn't budged.

"Oh my fuck," Donghyuck moans. "He's really serious. We're really not going to play, fuck."

Jeno looks over pleadingly at Renjun, and Renjun exhales sharply through this nose before glancing over at Jaemin, sitting up against the wall with his goal keeper's racquet tucked in between his arms. They make eye contact again, and Renjun lets out a sigh.

"Okay, fine," he says. "Fine. I won't get up in Jaemin's shit anymore, are you happy? Just let me fucking play."

Taeyong holds Renjun's gaze for a second, before turning his eyes too Jaemin. "And what about you?"

Jaemin maintains a steely second of eye contact with their coach, before shrugging. "Fine."

Taeyong holds Jaemin's gaze for a few more seconds, then nods curtly. "Here," he says, holding out the paper with their finalized starting line up. The other team's aide quickly takes it and dashes out. "Suit up, gentlemen."

The game goes just as badly as any of them would expected it to go. They've never played together, so Jaemin and Renjun do a spectacularly bad job at meshing their vastly differently playing styles.

The only saving grace of the entire match—and possibly the only reason why the match hadn't been an entire wipeout—was the long-practiced coordination between Jaemin and Donghyuck, who manage to pull off a couple of plays that land them points.

Unfortunately, that doesn't erase the looks of frustration on Mark and Taeyong's faces after the game.

"That wasn't it, you guys," Mark says in a low voice. None of them dignify that with a response, Donghyuck only making a grunt in return.

"That was far from it," Taeyong says, cool and steely. "Whatever is going on here—" He gestures between Renjun and Jaemin. "—has to stop right now."

"They've never really played together, coach—" Jeno starts to protest, but Taeyong holds a hand up to silence him.

"Fine, let's fix that. No more of these secret nightly practices from now on, got it?" Taeyong gives a wry smile as Renjun and the others turn to look up, surprised. "What, you thought I had no idea?"

Renjun can't tell what's worse—the fact that Taeyong had known about their extra practices all along, or the fact that he'd been so nearsighted to not expect it.

Taeyong shakes his head. "Let's just make this official. Starting from next practice, Jaemin, I want you to spend an extra two hours after every session to work with Renjun. Bring him up to speed, if you will."

Renjun looks up to make eye contact with Jaemin, filled with a growing sense of resentment, and grits his jaw. Jaemin only holds his gaze for just a moment before looking away. Bastard.

It's something that neither of them want to do, but Renjun knows that he has very little say in the matter. Sitting at the other end of the locker room, Jaemin looks like he's not particularly happy about it, either. It's a small lining, but at least Renjun knows silver when he sees it.

Jaemin doesn't say anything as Renjun bends over to tug at his shoes, waiting until he'd stood up again, waiting with that same calculating and critical glare.

"You really thought Vision would take you?" Jaemin says quietly, leaning his weight onto his racquet.

Renjun bites down on the urge to lash out, reigns in any reflex to snap and give Jaemin a piece of his mind. He'd been landed in this godforsaken arrangement because of the last time he did, and he could not risk being kicked off the team at this point. The game only hit the point home—that Jaemin is actually a very highly skilled player, and Renjun's game needs serious work.

If only the person who had been tasked to improve it had been someone else. Someone—anyone other than Jaemin.

But unfortunately it's Jaemin standing in front of him now, watching him like he can see Renjun right down to his bones, like he can scan them for weaknesses and analyze how to trip him. He exhales slowly through his nose, tamps down on the fury that wants so desperately to take over, and looks at Jaemin.

"You know, this means that you can't hold back against me anymore," Renjun says, voice almost low enough to be a hiss. "You have to actually fucking play me."

"Oh, I will," Jaemin says, his eyes shuttering. "Jeno tried what he could, but Taeyong's made it explicitly clear that he wants you to practice against a proper goal keeper. I'm not going to hold back."

Renjun sets his jaw, looking at the way Jaemin stands, cocky, in front of the goal. He's standing so far forward, it seems almost impossible to him that anyone wouldn't be able to get a shot in. But the most infuriatingly part of all is knowing that this is what made Jaemin so dangerous. The ease that makes everyone severely underestimate him, mistake him for an afterthought. Renjun had experienced it very nearly firsthand, watching Jaemin and Donghyuck work in sync to block, defend, then score.

For the first time, Renjun understands a little bit of why Jaemin was so adamant on the cohesion of the team in order for the plays the work. Of course, that doesn't make Renjun any less reluctant to get friendly with them. They're his teammates, sure, and he'd play with them insofar that they start to win matches. But that's all they are. Nothing more. He'd never want to be friends with them. Not any of them, and certainly not Jaemin.

Renjun shifts his grip on the racquet, takes a practice swing. Satisfied, he nods at Jaemin and paces backwards with the ball. Stares down into the pocket of his net, as if thinking. Jaemin is watching him still.

Renjun places the ball into his net, tosses it up lightly, catches it. Then, without warning, Renjun surges forward, all tidal wave fury. He launches himself at Jaemin in a full-on sprint, drawing his racquet back, swings with all his might. It sails in a true arc at a perfectly aimed corner, clear to hit home—

With a resounding smack, Jaemin hits it out of the air, and the ball rebounds off the wood high up above them both. Renjun ignores it when it falls, staring mildly awestruck at Jaemin, whom he had not even seen move.

"What the fuck," he spits. "How—"

Jaemin's eyes flash, and he walks over to the ball to pick it up. "You think I would leave that corner open for you on purpose?" he says, and throws the ball to Renjun. "Again."

Renjun barely has time to react, and just barely manages to catch the ball in his net. He grips his racquet tightly. "Fuck you," he snaps, and runs all the way past the center court. This time, he doesn't bother with the element of surprise before starting up at him again. He doesn't care if Jaemin sees him coming. In fact, Renjun wants him to see him coming, wants him to see him full-throttle, boil over, Renjun launching the ball at Jaemin with all the force he can muster.

Again, Jaemin hits the ball out of the air. He picks up the ball, an irritated expression on his face. "Too slow," is all he says. "Again."

Renjun swears, but he catches it this time. Jaemin is trying to bait him into another blowup, he knows, but he won't let him this time. Renjun is just trying to improve his game, better his chances to shine against the shitty background of his godforsaken school. The trouble is that next to someone like Jaemin, who has so much more skill than Renjun could have ever bothered to fathom, it's getting harder and harder to do so.

This time, Renjun doesn't run back up court, instead deciding to take several steps forward. Bring himself even closer to Jaemin than he was at the beginning. From this close, Renjun can see just the barest beginning of perspiration forming at Jaemin's hairline, the slight labor of his breathing. Jaemin watching him with eyes ready to take him down in every single way, and Renjun isn't going to have that.

He'd find a way to get through, somehow. And instead of going farther back, instead of running away, maybe the solution is to take some steps forward, get closer. Look a little bit harder.

Renjun grips his racquet, testing the weight of the ball in his net, and looks up at Jaemin.

Jaemin is wearing just the barest hint of a smirk hovering around the corners of his lips, one that says, _well—come on then_ , a challenge put forth. Renjun knows he'll take it. He pulls his racquet back, springs into form. He takes a deep breath, and swings.

Even though he should have expected it, the progress that Renjun begins to make after that catches him off guard. At first it's difficult for him to even recognize just how much better he's getting simply just by getting in extra practice against Jaemin, but once it becomes apparent Renjun almost doesn't want to admit it.

But the fact of the matter is that the team practices have been improving. Renjun's accuracy sharpens to a laser point. Jaemin finally starts to include him in the game play, instead of ignoring him and Renjun having to insert himself into the plays through blunt force.

Donghyuck has taken to alternating between bitching at Jaemin and bitching at Renjun based on his mood, but it's a huge improvement from the kinds of practices they used to have, when it felt like they were all carrying around weapons instead of racquets. But even Donghyuck has started to make passes to him now, too, and Renjun will take whatever victory he can get.

But as much as the level of their team play rises, Jaemin still does not let up on his critique, taking down about niney percent of Renjun's shots and attempts at a goal. Renjun has learned to stop talking back, to swallow his pride and take the hits to his armor, because if he wants to get better, he has no other choice.

After a while, the days all start to blur together, routine wearing his gears down to smooth finish. Renjun wakes up, goes to class, plays hard for four hours straight at practice, then stays an extra two afterwards with Jaemin. Some nights have Renjun asleep almost as soon as he hits his bed. But if it saves him from having to make conversation, Renjun won't complain.

One evening is particularly exhausting, Taeyong having decided to do another practice scrimmage on the day that Renjun has the most of his classes. He ignores the dull beginnings of a headache pressing in between his eyes and launches himself into the scrimmage. Today, it's Mark, Jeno, and Renjun versus Jisung, Donghyuck, and Jaemin. Even in a scrimmage, Jaemin does not let up on his critique, and Renjun's team loses quite spectacularly to Donghyuck and Jaemin's signature court-length pass.

"Okay," Mark is saying, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I get that Donghyuck and Jaemin are kind of insane when they're paired up, but—Renjun—you do know that Jeno was wide open, right?"

Renjun squints at Mark, the pounding in his head growing stronger, and tries to tell him that he couldn't have possibly passed to Jeno, because Jeno was miles and miles away, and then Mark splits into two, and everything goes dark.

He comes to in a room he doesn't recognize. Small, peeling paint. Mattress hard beneath his back, and thin enough to feel the box spring underneath. Renjun inhales sharply through his nose, brings his hands up to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing furiously, before trying to sit up.

It has to the be stadium infirmary, or at least something similar. Across from the bed is a medical cabinet and a mini fridge. Next to him, in a chair, however—

Jaemin's head shoots up suddenly, and it's immediately clear to Renjun that he'd nodded off. Jaemin turns to look at him, his eyes unfocused just for a moment, then his vision clears and Jaemin frowns.

Renjun beats him to it. "Where am I?"

"You passed out," Jaemin says flatly. "This is the infirmary. Clearly," he adds on, jerking his head at the opposite wall.

Renjun bites his tongue. "Why the fuck are you here? Where's Taeyong?"

Jaemin narrows his eyes. "Taeyong went to get you food. He told me to watch you."

"I don't need babysitting," Renjun snaps. "I'm awake now, so you can get the fuck out."

"Can't." Jaemin leans back in his chair, crosses his arms over his chest. He's still in his practice clothes. "Coach told me to stay put."

Renjun glowers at him for a moment, then flops back down onto the bed. Unfortunately it's not that much more comfortable.

"What happened?" he asks finally, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Funny," Jaemin says. "Coach says that it's my fault. Said that I worked you too hard. That you couldn't handle it."

Renjun scoffs. "Bullshit."

Jaemin gives him a smile devoid of any warmth. "That's what I thought. So I know that it's not because of me. So you tell me—have you eaten anything today?"

Renjun makes a sound of disbelief in his throat. "I—" he stops, brows furrowing for a moment, about to say something like _of course._ But after a moment, after thinking back, Renjun realizes that he had not had anything at all to eat that day. He'd woken up late on accident, skipped breakfast, gone straight to practice right after his classes. He'd pretty much had been running on the water he'd drank at practice.

Jaemin makes a disapproving noise. "Pathetic. You, of all people, should know the importance of proper nutrition."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Renjun says hotly. "What do you mean, me of all people?"

"Guys like you with sticks up their asses about Team Vision are bound to know just how strictly they follow their diet," Jaemin says coolly. "I know you've done your research."

Renjun's face flares up in heat for a moment, but at that point he doesn't have any will to argue with Jaemin. His body is sore and aching, his throat is parched, he's running on fumes. So he doesn't say anything, just stares up angrily at the ceiling, letting Jaemin's words wash over him, away.

Jaemin sighs. "When you're training as hard as you are, eating regularly is crucial. You have to take supplements, too, to make up for whatever you're burning off during practices and games. I already have the entire team on a vitamin and protein regime, so I might as well get you in on this too—"

Jaemin continues to ramble on about the things he's having all of the team take, and Renjun doesn't interrupt him, just lets him talk. When Jaemin isn't yelling at him or tearing his playing to bits and pieces, maybe his voice isn't so bad to listen to. Not that he's really listening. Maybe only about half of what Jaemin is saying.

Practices start to improve.

It's a surprise to all of them, but Renjun had seen it coming. With the amount of time he's been practicing with Jaemin, winning a game is only a matter of time.

The next team they play is called Team Wonder—the starting lineup of six plus three extra players is intimidating, in their way. Different from a team like Vision, whose resources and budget afford its players the tip-top best. No. Wonder is more like them. The match feels like it will be a true test of skill, because they're playing against someone only a little more up the field than they are.

The back liner assigned to Renjun is a little taller than average, and solidly built. He flashes a gummy grin at Renjun before the match begins, and Renjun takes a deep breath to steady himself.

The game frustrates all of them, with the teams somewhat evenly matched. Something like this is somehow more frustrating than a total blowout, because there's no room to push forward, nowhere to step back. Both teams heave and shove, but no one budges.

Taekhyeon shoves him back several times throughout the match, but Renjun manages to weave around him to score. Wonder swaps out their other players halfway through the match, though Taekhyeon remains on court. In the later half of the game, the goal keeper is switched out, which makes it easier for both Renjun and Donghyuck to score. They win, but barely.

As they're lining up to shake hands, Yongha grasps Mark's hand tightly and gives him a fierce grin. "Sorry, I think we underestimated you. Everyone is saying that you'd be an easy win."

Mark grins back. "None taken. Good game."

They all clack their racquets with his on the way back to the locker room, even Jaemin. Taeyong is waiting for them when they get in, and he gives Renjun a knowing smile as Renjun peels off his sweaty uniform. "Still think we're a waste of your time?"

Renjun rolls his eyes and stalks off to the showers.

Taeyong takes them out to dinner afterwards. Renjun almost says no, but Donghyuck simply loops his elbow around Renjun's and drags him into Taeyong's car.

Renjun peers into the open door of the backseat, where Jaemin, Jisung, and Jeno are already sitting, and then at Mark up front next to Taeyong. He looks back at Donghyuck and raises an eyebrow. "This car only seats five."

Donghyuck snorts. "For an asshole, you sure seem to be a goody-two shoes, Huang Renjun," he says, and then shoves him inside. Somehow Renjun ends up halfway in Jaemin's lap, and he slides down to sit on the floor, leaning against Jaemin and Jisung's knees.

"Suit yourself," Donghyuck says, shamelessly draped across Jeno. Renjun rolls his eyes.

It's a cheap diner, but the rest of the team seem more than thrilled at the prospect of a meal that's not from the cafeteria. Renjun orders himself a milkshake, which he immediately regrets when the waitress brings it to their table.

"Wow," Donghyuck says, eyeing the ridiculous amount of whipped cream lathered on top. "I wouldn't have taken you for having a sweet tooth."

Renjun flushes, hurried pulling the frosted glass over to his side of the table. "I don't usually get things like this," he mutters. "It's just—"

"It's fine, Renjun," Jeno says, smiling at him. "We won! You can treat yourself." In front of him, Jeno has a huge plate of nachos that Donghyuck is surreptitiously trying to steal from.

Renjun sighs. Across the table from him, Jaemin meets his eyes. The diner is one of those twenty-four seven kind of numbers that offers all kinds of fare at any time of the day. Jaemin had ordered french toast, which Renjun wrinkles his nose at.

"What?" Jaemin says, giving him a look. "Something you want to share with us?"

"No," Renjun says quickly, going back to his sandwich and salad. It's not terrible, he thinks, sitting here with the rest of his team, tucking into food that is probably way too bad for them, even though Taeyong has just two mugs of black coffee in front of him and nothing else.

No, it's not terrible, he decides to himself, but it's not something he would initiate on his own. He still wouldn't invite himself to the dinners Donghyuck and Jeno regularly have with Mark. He still has no idea what to say to Jisung, not that he wants to.

And Renjun still can't figure out what to make of Jaemin. Jaemin, who guards their goal with vengeance. On whom so many of the others seem to depend upon, lean on. And though Renjun can definitely see why—Jaemin is good, excellent, and his ability in front of their goal is the backbone of their team plays—it doesn't make it any easier. This is as far as he'll let it get. This is all for the cohesion of the team, for the efficiency of their plays.

A sport like exy requires every kind of sacrifice, so Renjun will make this one for himself. The only way onwards, forwards.

To everyone's surprise, they stay in the round-robin. They lose some games, as expected, but they win a good number too. Eventually, though, and even though Renjun had been bracing himself for this, everyone winces when Taeyong announces their upcoming match with Team Vision.

Almost immediately, everyone turns to Renjun, and he flushes with their eyes on them.

Mark is the first to say anything. "Away or home?" he asks quietly.

Taeyong turns his eyes to him. "Home," he says. Donghyuck lets out a low swear.

"Fuck, I wanted to travel."

"Can you handle it, Renjun?" Taeyong says, suddenly turning to Renjun. "Playing Vision."

Renjun feels a scowl scratch its way onto his face, and he swallows down all urge he has to snip at him. "I'm not five," he snaps. "It's just another match."

"Funny," Donghyuck sneers. "Sometimes you really act like it."

"Donghyuck," Mark says warningly. "Renjun is right. This team is no different from any other team—"

"Except for the fact that their budget is like five million dollars—"

"—so there's no reason that we need to treat them any differently." Mark looks around at them, every last bit the captain that he is, and Renjun begrudgingly feels a little bit of respect for him, even as an uncomfortable wave of jealously and bitterness begins to unfurl into his stomach.

For some reason, the others all glance at Jaemin as well, who frowns and shakes his head. "I can take them."

Jeno clears his throat uncomfortably. "Yeah, but—"

"For fuck's sake," Renjun says irritably. "Let's just move on."

Taeyong holds his gaze for a few moments longer, then presses on with the conversation. Renjun lets himself exhale slowly. This match is going to be rough.

The day of the Vision match arrives, and Renjun wakes up earlier than he anticipated. Jeno is still sleeping, so he pulls on his shoes and goes out for a run.

There's a restless, anxious kind of energy thrumming throughout his body, like his bones had been replaced by live wires. Renjun runs, desperate to get this restlessness out of his system, to try to funnel this quiet, burning desperation out of him before the match starts. He comes back to their room an hour later to see Jeno sitting, cross-legged, on his bed.

Jeno looks up as Renjun comes in, and gives him a small, tired smile. "Nervous?" he asks gently.

Renjun makes a sound low in his throat. "No," he says, grabbing his shower things before heading off to the bathroom.

He goes to his morning classes as normal, trying to keep his focus on his instructors, but it's extremely difficult when his thoughts keep going back to the match they have later than afternoon, when the team of his dreams will be on the court just mere feet away from him, when Renjun will have to be face to face with whichever player they'd decided to keep instead of him, and play well—play extremely well—to make it all seem worth it.

His mood hasn't improved by the time he gets pulled out of his last class of the day, only darkening as he runs through the last-minute warm up exercises that Taeyong has them do.

There's a strange tension in the air, every line on Taeyong's face more prominently than usual, and Mark is a little more serious than he usually is. All of them seem to have been infected by this dense, heavy anxiety. Even Jeno looks worried. But soon Taeyong sends them back into the locker rooms half an hour before spectators start to arrive to fill up the stands.

"Why the fuck do we all look like someone just died?" Donghyuck demands, the moment they get into the locker room. "Didn't we just say last week that this is going to be a normal game? What's fucking wrong with you all?"

"Enough," Mark says tersely, and it's so out of character that Donghyuck immediately shuts his mouth, plopping down next to him, glowering.

Renjun cannot stop moving, holding his racquet in his hands and pacing restlessly throughout the locker room. He comes close to the entrance to the stadium and pauses for a moment, listening to the sounds of people filling the stands. Renjun takes a few steps forward, trying to get a better look at the colors they are wearing. Renjun sees some green—people cheering for them—but he also sees so many people wearing the shimmering yellow-gold of Team Vision. The fact that so many of Vision's fans had traveled with them to cheer them on—Renjun grits his teeth. He should have been part of that—

A hand comes down on his shoulder, forcibly pulls him around to see Jaemin standing behind him, brows drawn together.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but stop it," Jaemin says, and Renjun shrugs him off with scoff.

He spends the last few minutes before they're called onto the court sitting by himself near the showers, trying to reconcile the fact that he will be playing against the same team he'd been longing to stand with for as long as he can remember. That the first time he'd be standing on the same court as Vision would have him on the other side, trying to take them down. It's just another game, he tells himself, it's just another team.

But deep in his heart, Renjun knows that this is not true. Vision is more than just a team. Vision is the reason why Renjun had begun playing exy, the reason Renjun had even made it this far. Vision is the goal that Renjun had been chasing his entire life, the one thing he's always said he wants above everything else. Vision has kept him going, even during the tough times in high school when he had nothing.

And today he is going to play them. He's going to show them everything that he's got, even if it means putting everything on the line. He would not back down, he would not falter. Renjun is going to play Vision like he has nothing to lose. He is going to prove to them, to the world, that he's not just anybody—he is somebody. And, today, Renjun is going to make it clear who. He will show them exactly what they had lost by telling him no. He will show them just how wrong they were by sending him that rejection letter.

Renjun inhales sharply, and tightens his grip around his racquet. He'd show them who he is. _My name is Huang Renjun, this is me, this is my game._

A set of footsteps resound in the entrance of the breeze way, and they all look up to see Taeyong standing there with his hands on his hips. The look on his face is strained, but he manages to give them all a smile anyway.

"Okay boys," he says quietly, and gestures back behind him. "It's time."

The moment he steps onto the court, everything changes.

The roar of the crowd presses in on him from all sides, and for a second, Renjun forgets where he is, forgets the match in front of him and only sees one thing—the gold-clad fans surrounding him on all sides, the banners in their hands as they wave them in the air, the briefest moment when Renjun feels like he's out of body, watching himself follow the rest of his teammates onto the court from above.

As usual, both teams get the standard set of warm up laps around the court, followed by practice on half-courts. It's a futile effort, because Renjun can't keep his eyes off the players on the other side.

This is a team he knows almost entirely by heart. Wong Yukhei in the goal. Liu Yangyang and Huang Guanheng back liners. Xiao Dejun as offensive dealer, and team captain Dong Sicheng as striker.

But it's the young man swinging his racquet on the other side of the half-court line, the grin on his face like a knife slash, who has Renjun stiffening up and all his limbs locking.

Zhong Chenle standing in front of him, Team Vision's newest starting striker. The position that should have been Renjun's. Right there, almost as if for the taking, but Renjun is completely on the other side, in the wrong team, the wrong colors—everything about this situation completely wrong.

"Yo," Chenle says, cocking his head to the side, one hand on his hip and the other wrapped around the handle of his racquet. It's drenched in the same burnished gold color as his other teammates', the custom paint jobs on all of their racquets making the players of Team Vision seem more like warriors poised for war—gods ready to attack, to throw lightning.

It's like someone had peeled back the skin from his ribs, followed the blood up to where his heart is still raw and tender from his rejection, and slowly undone all the stitches holding it together. Seeing Chenle in the uniform that should have been his, against a team that he should have been playing with, should have been trained with—sends another painful wave of betrayal and hurt throughout his body.

To make matters worse, it feels like every single Vision player has their eyes on him—as if all his hurts and failures had been written on the front and back of his jersey, instead of his name and number. Renjun swallows thickly, looking up to make brief eye contact with Sicheng, before breaking away to look back at Chenle.

Chenle's grin grows wider. "Haven't seen you since high school."

Renjun feels his jaw lock up with bitter, bitter resentment. He doesn't even try to dignify that with a response, knowing that the only kinds of words he has for Chenle are biting and caustic.

There's a nudge in his back, right in between his shoulder blades, and Renjun turns around to see Donghyuck behind him, gently pressing the head of his racquet in. Tension bleeds across all of his features, but Donghyuck only nods at Renjun, pushing him forward, in line with Jeno, and Renjun inhales deeply through his nose and lines up for the coin toss.

Even though everything feels wrong, even though every single bit of this screams out of place, Renjun has no choice but to go through with the game—even on the wrong side of center court, in the wrong colors. He'll get through this match—and the ones after too.

Mark wins the coin toss and chooses first serve, so they all get into position at the referee's signal, with Renjun and Donghyuck lined up on either side of Mark on the half court line, Sicheng and Chenle on the outside. Sicheng is standing behind him, but Chenle is on the side behind Donghyuck, and as Mark prepares for the beginning serve, Chenle looks up to make eye contact with Renjun and grins fiercely.

Renjun tamps down on his simmering impatience, entire body strung out like a bowstring, waiting for the signalling whistle of game play.

Finally, the whistle sounds and Mark launches his serve high into the air. Renjun is off running before the ball even leaves Mark's net, sprinting for home court as fast as his legs will let him, and catches the ball in his net. Almost immediately, Yangyang is on him like a hawk, stick flying in an effort to intercept the next play, and Renjun snarls, meeting all of the checks with swings of his own, the shocks reverberating down the handle of his racquet. Already, Yangyang has him cornered, the grin on Yangyang's face splitting it right down the middle.

"Pass, you piece of shit," Donghyuck cries, running back to try to clear Guanheng, but Renjun ignores him, trying to go around Yangyang instead. It doesn't work, and a referee blows a whistle signalling that Renjun had taken too many steps with the ball. Loss of possession, ball to Dejun.

Donghyuck gives him a dirty look from across the court, but neither of them have time to bicker because Dejun's serve puts the ball back into play. Chenle catches the serve and hurtles up court with more speed than they all had expected. Jaemin clearly hadn't been ready, because the wall lights up behind him as Chenle wrenches away the first point of the game.

The disapproving cry of the crowd has Renjun's head spinning, and he whirls around at Jaemin as Jaemin prepares to pass, an underhanded swing to hit the ball down court to Donghyuck. Renjun suppresses another rush of annoyance, watching Donghyuck go head to head with Yukhei, aiming for the corner but ultimately getting blocked. Another lament from the audience as Yukhei passes the ball up to Sicheng, taking off running for Jaemin and the goal.

Jisung is there to meet Sicheng, but Sicheng changes tactics and passes to Chenle at the last minute, who lands another point in.

The expression on Jaemin's face is absolutely glowering by then, all six of them on court on edge. Jaemin passes down court to Donghyuck again, but this time Renjun launches himself into the middle of the ball's path, leaping up to catch it in his net.

"What the fuck are you doing—" Renjun hears Donghyuck scream, but Renjun ignores him, shoving his way past Yangyang and Guanheng. Yukhei must not have expected him coming, because before he knows it Renjun is at the goal and the wall behind him is ablaze in scarlet.

The immediate roar of the crowd almost deafens him, and Renjun feels a feral grin slide onto his face, whipping around to jog back toward half-court.

"Renjun," Mark tells him as he passes. "You're walking a fine line right now, quit interfering with the game strategy."

"Game strategy didn't get us a point," Renjun fires back. "I did."

Mark frowns heavily behind his visor, but the ball is in the air again, soaring in an arc until it lands snugly in Chenle's net. Without thinking, Renjun feels himself surge forward to collide with Chenle's back, left shoulder bursting into pain, but it works. Chenle tries to check back, but the distraction is enough for him to lose possesion. Unfortunately, Sicheng scoops the ball up before anyone else can get to it, but Jaemin blocks his attempt at a point. The crowd screams its approval as Jaemin passes the ball to Mark.

Suddenly, Yangyang—who had been marking Renjun—moves forward toward half court as Mark launches the ball into the air, and Renjun—sensing an opening—takes off for the goal.

Donghyuck whips around, his face tight. "Renjun, wait—" but it's too late, the whistle sounding shrill and harsh in their ears.

Renjun whirls around, heart hammering in his ears. "What? What the fuck?" he demands, but it only takes him a second to see Yangyang grinning at him further up court, and he realizes that it had been on purpose. Yangyang had baited him into an off-sides. Renjun swears furiously as play resets from half-court, Dejun hurtling the ball towards the far end, Chenle catching the ball in his net with a spectacular jump.

This time, Jaemin is ready for him, catching Chenle's throw with both hands, launching the ball at Renjun. It only takes seconds for both Guanheng and Yangyang to be on him, blocking any goal-scoring attempts, and Renjun growls, trying to check them both out of the way, dodging the swings of their sticks.

"Renjun, you fuck, over here—" Donghyuck is screaming for him, wide open, but Renjun instead throws the ball at the wall, trying to snatch it back for a rebound. Unfortunately, Guanheng manages to get the ball first, using his impressive height to snatch it right out of the air before launching it back at Sicheng.

Sicheng doesn't make it far before Jeno intercepts him, flinging the ball up court towards Donghyuck. And this time, Yukhei misses as he lunges for the ball. The wall lights up in scarlet behind him just as the half-time buzzer sounds, and Donghyuck peals away from the goal to rush back to half-court with a huge grin on his face.

Renjun clenches his jaw before jogging back toward where his team is gathering in a huddle, Taeyong distributing drinks and towels. Renjun tugs his helmet off his head, taking a deep breath of cool air, and is about to open his water bottle before Donghyuck yanks him back sharply by the collar of his shirt.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he hisses, shoving him back. "You can't just fucking pull bullshit we haven't planned in the middle of a fucking game—"

"This is is Vision we're playing," Renjun retorts, shoving back. "Shit changes. You improvise. Deal with it."

A hand clamps down on his shoulder and wheels him around, Renjun coming face to face with Jaemin, sweaty hair pushed back from his eyes and glowering with a quiet fury. "Improvising does not mean getting in the way of our plays. I won't hesitate to stop including you in the plays, so back down."

Renjun gets right back in his face, snarling, "Clearly, you have no fucking idea of how to play a champion-level team like Vision, do you—"

Jaemin lets out a low growl in his throat. "I know a lot more than you think."

Renjun glares up at him, glares at everyone else standing around, before shoving Jaemin back, biting his tongue. The warning whistle sounds, and they all head back onto the court. They're starting from home court this time, Dejun tossing the ball into the air nonchalantly as they all wait for the game to resume.

Finally, Dejun throws the ball up, then smacks it down court to where Jaemin is waiting at his goal, eyes narrowed. Chenle catches the ball with a shrill peal of laughter, but his shot at the goal is blocked by Jaemin. Jaemin tries to pass to Donghyuck, but his attempt gets intercepted by Sicheng, who gains possession of the ball.

Sicheng easily dodges Jisung and Jeno and passes back to Chenle. The ball couldn't have stayed in Chenle's net for more than half a second, barely caught before Chenle's swinging his stick for the goal, and then the wall lights up in red behind Jaemin.

Renjun's patience is very quickly running out with Jaemin and the rest of this godforsaken team, raising his racquet. "Here," he calls, his voice ringing out across the court. In his goal, Jaemin turns to give Renjun an indecipherable look, just the briefest moment, before Jaemin hurtles the ball up court to him.

He catches Jaemin's pass easily enough, but Yangyang is right there on him, slamming his stick against Renjun's—the heavy wood of Yangyang's handle jarring Renjun down to the bones, and he loses the ball with a cry. Guanheng immediately scoops it up, and Renjun slams himself into Guanheng almost knocking them both over. But it works, and Guanheng fumbles the ball, and Renjun gains possesion gleefully.

"Penalty, penalty—" Sicheng is yelling from further down court, but the referee doesn't answer, and Renjun launches the ball at Yukhei, aiming for a spot right behind his ear. Yukhei barely misses, and Renjun lands another point.

He barely has any time to celebrate, Yukhei picking up the ball and throwing it high into the air, pulling back his racquet and then slamming it all the way down court with a great, powerful swing. Before any of them realize what's happening, the ball is in Sicheng's net, and then the goal lights up behind Jaemin. It's a perfect recreation of Donghyuck and Jaemin's signature play, and Yukhei and Sicheng had exceuted it flawlessly.

"What—" Renjun's eyes go back and forth from Yukhei to Sicheng, and meets Donghyuck's eyes. Donghyuck's expression is shocked and angry, and Jaemin—down in the home goal—is the angriest that Renjun has ever seen him. For the first time the entire game, Renjun is glad that he's not up against Jaemin.

Mark bangs his stick against the floor. "Focus," he calls, but even Renjun can hear how his voice is strained. They're all tense and agitated, the game closing in on its final few minutes, and the entire game is getting out of hand. If he doesn't do anything, they're going to fucking fall apart. That's just how it is when you play a champion team, and if Jaemin or Donghyuck or Mark had genuinely thought this team had any chance of winning, then they're even more disillusioned that he thought.

Jaemin swings his racquet to whack the ball up at Donghyuck, and Renjun doesn't even have to think before rushing forward once again, snatching the ball right out of its path, ignoring the indignant shouts of his teammates behind him. All of a sudden, someone slams directly into his right side, and Renjun lets out a cry as Guanheng rams into him with all of his weight, the ball popping clean out of Renjun's net. With a snarl, Renjun swings his elbow around to land in Guanheng's abdomen, sending him doubled over backwards.

Immedtiately, a shrill whistle rings out, and Renjun looks up furiously to see a referee yellow carding him.

"Penalty shot," the referree announces, and Guanheng is wearing a tiny little smirk as he gets up, even though he's clutching his stomach.

"I'm gonna fucking murder you," Donghyuck seethes, flipping his visor up. "How dare you—"

"Fuck off," Renjun mutters, and Donghyuck flips him off.

Sicheng steps forward to take the penalty shot, and they all watch with bated breath as Sicheng feints to the right before landing a point behind Jaemin's back. Jaemin's swear is lost to the triumphant roar of the Vision fans, and Renjun glances up to the clock.

Jaemin passes up to Mark, who checks Guanheng out of the way before launching the ball at Donghyuck. Donghyuck manages to land a point, but Yukhei is quick to scoop up the ball and launch it down court to Chenle.

Chenle aims his shot just before the ending buzzer sounds, but Jaemin intercepts the shot with a great lunge to his left. In the end, it doesn't even matter—Renjun doesn't have to look up at the final score to know that it wasn't enough.

The stadium erupts into noise, the cacophony of the Vision fans making an impressive effort to drown out the noise from the home fans, and the referree signals all the players to come down to the half court line.

The game is over—Vision won, five to four.

Renjun doesn't even wait for Mark to try to catch up with him before pivoting sharply on his heel to storm back into the locker rooms, gripping his racquet so hard his knuckles ache.

Renjun drops his racquet to the floor with a loud clatter and immediately goes to the restroom, turning on the faucet to splash water onto his face. Under the stream, his hands are shaking, bruised, grimy from play. Slowly, he raises his eyes to look at himself in the mirror. Renjun sees himself, hair and face drenched with sweat, the cool water cutting lines in the grime on his face. Against his cheek, a slowly purpling bruise is flowering underneath his skin, but Renjun doesn't care.

All he can hear is the deafening drum of his heart, quieting out the gush of water from the sink. He swallows over a throat that is parched and stripped raw from yelling, tastes loss and humiliation and rage on his tongue, chokes it back down like bile.

In the mirror behind him, Renjun sees Donghyuck come up behind him. His split lip had stopped bleeding, but his eyes are all fury, every line of his body coated in it.

Donghyuck stops right behind him, crosses his arms tight over his chest. "What the fuck was that."

Renjun breaks eye contact with him to duck his head, biting his tongue as he splashes more water on his face.

More footsteps resound behind him, and Renjun doesn't need to look to know that the rest of his teammates have come in. And when Renjun opens his eyes, it's no longer Donghyuck directly behind him. It's Jaemin. Behind him are Jeno and Jisung. Mark and Taeyong are nowhere to be found.

A hot, furious wave rushes up into his face, but before he can open his mouth, Jaemin beats him to it.

"That was your fault," he says, every single one of his words emanating a cold, steely fury.

Jeno starts from behind Jaemin. "Jaemin, this isn't—it's not about whose fault it is—"

"Yes it is," Jaemin snaps, turning back to look at Jeno. "That's what you can take away from this. This was one hundred percent Renjun's fault."

"Fuck you," Renjun spits, gripping the cold porcelain edge of the sink. "I played the best I'd ever played today. If you'd all just kept passing me the ball, we would have won."

"Renjun, I scored half our points," Donghyuck fires back. "What the fuck happened? It's like you decided to go back to being a fucking asshole. What happened to the shit we've been doing for the past three months?"

Renjun glares at his teammates through the mirror, finally whirling around to face them. "You're all even more idiotic than I thought. This is Vision we're talking about—you think the way to beat them is by doing that stupid shit?"

"Uh, I don't know if you fucking noticed, but we didn't win your way, Renjun—" Donghyuck snarls. "We fucking lost—"

"We lost because none of you had the fucking sense to utilize your best fucking player on the court—" Renjun snaps back, the heat rising in his face.

"Oh yeah?" Jaemin cuts in, crossing his arms. "Think that's you? You think that Vision wants what you have? You think they even looked twice at you today, after the way you played, and decided that it's you that they want for their team?"

A ringing silence follows Jaemin's words, ugly and festering. Jisung and Jeno glance at each other, and Donghyuck swears under his breath. Renjun can't force himself to look away from Jaemin's gaze, even though it feels like it's searing him alive.

More footsteps resound behind Jisung, and they all turn to see Mark coming in, his expression grim.

Donghyuck makes a low noise in his throat, and Jaemin frowns. "Where have you been?"

Mark glances at Jaemin, his expression darkening. "With coach."

At that moment, Taeyong enters, his face completely unreadable. The only thing Renjun can get from his face is that he's exhausted.

"Renjun," Taeyong says, and Renjun snaps his gaze onto their coach, feeling his face burn up under the weight of all their eyes on him. "I just got off a call with Coach Qian."

And just like that, the heavy silence that had folded in on itself feels like it was just cut, like a veil was just lifted from over his eyes, and everything comes back to him in startling, painful clarity.

"Coach Qian?" Donghyuck repeats, brows drawing together. "As in Team Vision's head coach Qian Kun?"

"What did he want?" Jeno asks quietly, sitting down on the bench.

Taeyong looks up to make eye contact with Renjun, and every single inch of him flares up like gunpowder. Renjun sucks in a breath at the look on Taeyong's face, unsure of what to expect, feels his stomach constrict painfully in his abdomen.

Renjun stares right back at Taeyong, searching for anything in his face.

Taeyong holds his gaze, exhaustion in every line of his handsome face. "He called with an offer."

And just like that, the rest of Renjun's world gets reduced to white static noise, the only thing that he can see is Taeyong in front of him, the words coming out his mouth, the numbing, startling truth of those words, building to a crescendo, endless momentum of reality surging forward to meet him in this moment of time. Around them, the rest of his team seem as if they are moving in slow motion, Donghyuck's outrageous shock, the disbelief on Jeno and Jisung's faces, the grimness on Mark's face, and Jaemin. Jaemin, who is standing right in front of Renjun, but Renjun can hardly see him at all.

Renjun is rooted to the spot, every bit of him paralyzed. "An offer." His words come out not sound like his own, like someone else had spoken them from another body, miles and miles away.

Taeyong's gaze bores into Renjun, who tightens his jaw and braces himself. "Yes, an offer. A transfer offer."

"What the fuck—" Donghyuck seethes, and Renjun had almost forgotten the other players were there in the room with them. "What do you fucking mean a transfer offer?"

Taeyong sinks down onto the bench next to Jeno and runs his hands through his hair. "Kun's had his eyes on you since your first match against Wonder," he says to Renjun, whose chest restricts for a moment, then expands as suddenly as if it'd been filled with helium.

"But he fucked up," Donghyuck protests, and Mark silences him with a look.

"He called me then too," Taeyong continues. "Said he wanted to put a provisional offer on the table, contingent on how you continue to play."

Jaemin finally tears his eyes away from Renjun. "And today's game was the deciding factor, then?"

Taeyong meets his gaze head on. "Apparently so," he says quietly.

Donghyuck lets out a low cry. "And you just fucking agreed to it?" he demands, whirling around to point an accusing finger at Taeyong. "What the fuck, you couldn't find the balls to tell us—"

"Donghyuck," Mark says sharply, and they all turn to look at him, at the resignation in Mark's face. For a moment, the both of them are silent, looking at each other, speaking to each other in ways none of them could understand, then—

"Oh my god," Donghyuck whispers, taking a step back. "Oh my god, you knew—you fucking knew—"

"We agreed that it would be best to not say anything," Taeyong says testily. "There was no sense in getting anyone worked up, especially if the offer ended up being withdrawn."

"Yeah, look where the fuck that got us," Donghyuck snaps. Renjun is trying to parse the specific brand of hurt on Donghyuck's face, more than the thought of his transfer over to Vision, the way that Donghyuck is doing his best to not look at Mark at all. "I can't believe neither of you thought it was important to fucking tell us something like this—"

"That means we'll be a player short again," Jeno saws in a slow whisper. "That means we won't be able to continue in the round-robin."

"Only if Renjun accepts," Mark interjects, snapping his gaze onto Renjun again. "It's an offer, and Renjun has to accept first."

"Of course he's going to fucking accept," Donghyuck cries. "Have you not heard the way he's been going on about how he doesn't care what happens to us as long as he gets to sign with Vision? You think he really fucking cares that much about us?"

Jeno turns to look at him, a strange mixture of hurt and apprehension on his face. "Renjun—are you—are you gonna accept?"

Renjun doesn't even blink. "Are you an idiot?" he snaps. "Of course I will."

Donghyuck throws his hands up in the air. "Well, that fucking settles it. Hope you all enjoyed the season this far, because that's the fucking end of it for us—see you all in practice on Monday—"

Taeyong and Mark exchange glances, then Mark goes off after Donghyuck, with Taeyong following.

Renjun looks back to Jaemin, crosses his arms. "You were saying about Vision?" he can't resist.

Jaemin's expression darkens. "I suppose you feel like you've accomplished something," he says, his tone taking Renjun aback. He hasn't heard this kind of ice in Jaemin's voice before—the borderline hatred, sour with resentment.

Renjun holds his ground. "I have accomplished something. Something more than you all can say."

Jaemin doesn't even grace that with an answer, abruptly turning on his heel to walk out of the bathroom and back towards the lockers, Jisung following on his tail.

Only Jeno is left, staring at Renjun heavily. Renjun frowns, not quite understanding the way Jeno is looking at him.

"Renjun," Jeno begins, and something in Renjun's chest inexplicably constricts at Jeno's voice, the palpable hurt and confusion. "I'm sorry to hear you're going to transfer."

Renjun swallows and juts out his chin. "If you're trying to guilt-trip me into staying because you'll be short a player, save it."

Jeno recoils back, as if he'd been stung, and Renjun steels himself against the look on his face. "No—" Jeno says, low and thick. "I just—I thought we were on our way to becoming friends."

Renjun's outer shell hardens. "I'm not here to make friends."

Jeno bites his lip and stands up. "I know, Renjun," he says finally. "I know."

Practice on Monday is miserable. The looming noose of Renjun's transfer over to Vision hangs low over their heads, coloring every interaction between Renjun and the others an ugly, stinging red. Not that Renjun cares about this in the slightest—how can he, when he's now destined for bigger, better things?

It would take a couple of weeks for everything to be finalized, Taeyong had told him. Vision would first need to complete the necessary paperwork to get Renjun out of his contract with his current team in order for the transfer to go through, and then Renjun's new contract would come in, ready for his signatures.

Until then, though, there's still practice to be had, and tension in the locker room when Renjun arrives the next Monday is so thick it could be folded twice over. Donghyuck is determinedly not speaking to him, Jeno is still acting like Renjun had kicked him in the face, and Jaemin barely acknowledges him at all.

The first practice session does not go well—Renjun so absorbed in his impending departure from this place and Donghyuck and Jaemin's icy-cold treatment towards him make for a completely unfocused and ineffective session. Taeyong tries to put his foot down again, but Renjun—completely untethered from his obligation to this team, no longer has any interest in playing with them.

The tension doesn't let up by the end of practice, either, following all six of them back to the locker rooms where Mark tries to talk some reason into him.

"That's not the point, Renjun—" Mark says, folding his arms over his chest. "The point is that Jeno was open."

All six of them are sweaty and exhausted, standing around Renjun's locker, caging him in. He doesn't care, back to them as he bends down to shove his things in his gym bag.

They'd just finished a three on three scrimmage—Renjun, Jeno, and Mark versus Jaemin, Jisung, and Donghyuck. Renjun's team had won, but just barely—and it hadn't been a pretty match.

"Renjun," Jeno begins, tentatively, laying a hesitant hand on Renjun's back, but Renjun stands up again, shrugging him off. "What we're trying to say is that sometimes you need to include the rest of us in your plays."

Renjun glares at him. "Why would I pass to you? You're a back liner."

"Not for this scrimmage, Renjun—" Jeno says earnestly, his eyes wide and anxious.

"I would never pass to you," Renjun snaps.

Donghyuck smacks the door of his locker, the sound resounding throughout the locker room. "Why the fuck are you still here, Renjun? The minute you find out Vision's signing you, you just forget all about us, is that right? Are we that fucking worthless to you?"

"I made it clear—" Renjun retorts. "From the very start, I made it clear that I wasn't going to stay. I was never going to stay. It's not my fault that you're all taking it so goddamn personally."

Donghyuck lets out a snarl, fist drawing back, but Jaemin catches his wrist and holds him back. When he turns to Renjun, his eyes are tumultuous, dark storm clouds.

"You are—without a doubt—" Jaemin says. "—the most selfish person I have ever met."

Renjun scoffs and shakes his head. "Well maybe you all need to start being a little more selfish. Maybe then you'll actually fucking get somewhere."

It all happens way too fast for Renjun to react. One moment Jaemin is standing there on one side of the locker room, holding Donghyuck back, the next Jaemin's slammed Renjun back against the row of lockers behind him, the handle jutting painfully into Renjun's shoulder blades. Jaemin is pinning him with his elbow, lip pulled back in a soundless snarl, brows drawn together.

"I want you to know something about us," Jaemin hisses. "We may not have won that many games, you're right. But you know what?" Jaemin pushes forward, pinning Renjun tighter against the lockers. "We have a team. A real team. You will never know what that's like. You've never had a team, and you never will."

And Renjun laughs, even though Jaemin's forearm is pressed up against his windpipe. "You mean a team that I actually want?" he bites back. "You're right. I haven't. Not yet."

In the moments that follow, an ugly, festering silence lays its entrails around all of them, Renjun's words burning in the air. Jaemin makes a low noise in his throat and shoves Renjun back against the lockers, turning immediately on his heel to pick up his bag and leave. Mark frowns, giving Renjun a look before following suit, then Jisung, and then Jeno—though not without a last, lingering glance that badly veiled concern.

Donghyuck is the last person there, all of his features contorted with a quiet fury. "I hope stepping all over us is worth it in the end."

Renjun reaches up to touch his neck, the place where Jaemin's arm had pressed in tender and sore. "You'll find that out for yourself, when you play us."

For a moment, Donghyuck's express is blank, almost disbelieving, before crumpling once more into resentment. "Are you stupid?" he demands. "You know what happens the moment the transfer is finalized—that's—that's it for us." Donghyuck's voice is trailing off into a kind of strained hopelessness, all the anger and bitterness and rage bleeding out into the quiet. "We'll be a player short, you already know—we won't be able to play at all—"

And Renjun stays silent, because he knows this, but he doesn't have anything to say. Why should he? This is everything that he's ever wanted—why should it matter what happens to the team that he leaves behind—the team he's been against joining from the start, the team who didn't want him either?

Donghyuck lets out a low cry, turning around to swing his foot into one of the lower, unoccupied lockers. The sounds is loud and ugly, the door slightly dented by the kick. "Goddamn it," Donghyuck mutters, voice choked up. "I just wanted to take Mark to the leagues just once, just fucking once—"

Before Renjun can say anything else, Donghyuck grabs his things and runs out.

Renjun doesn't go back to the room after practice, inexplicably wound up and tense, and opts instead to do his work at the library until the late hours of the morning.

He tells himself that he's not avoiding Jeno, but his stomach clenches at the thought of going back to the room to face his teammate after the words they'd exchange that day.

Finally, around two in the morning, Renjun finds himself outside their door with one hand on the handle, hesitating. This shouldn't bother him—there's nothing wrong that he's done, this is just what he's been telling all of them from the very beginning. He'd given them all plenty of warning about what his joining the team would mean from the start. It's not his fault that they'd all lost sight of that, that they'd decided to take his impending departure to heart, take it personally.

Renjun exhales slowly, his hand on the door handle. Whatever the mood in the room, Renjun would just deal with it. Even though this shouldn't bother him, something makes his insides twist up painfully, like they're bracing for something.

"It's no big deal," Renjun mutters to himself. Whatever Jeno has to say to him, Renjun will just deal with it. If Jeno decided that tonight was the night that he'd subject Renjun to a lecture, Renjun would just have to parry the topic away—maybe a small apology. Not that he has anything to apologize for, but if it makes the atmosphere in the room a little better, then that's just a pill that he wouldn't mind swallowing. And if Jeno takes a page out of Donghyuck's book and ignores him him, even better.

Renjun takes a deep breath and finally pushes the door open, preparing himself to see Jeno at his neat little desk, but the room is completely empty.

And immediately, Renjun feels himself flush with embarrassment and rage—embarrassed that he had let the afternoon's argument get under his skin when things like this aren't supposed to even affect him at all, angry that he'd even considered apologizing for something he didn't need to. This is something he never does, so fuck this team for trying to make him change. He's never ever changed himself for anyone, and he won't stop now.

It doesn't get any better at the next practice. None of them look like they want to be there, and Renjun is pissed because he just wants to play some exy.

"Can you all suck it the fuck up?" Renjun demands, crossing his arms.

Donghyuck scoffs. "Wow, typical. Really, our fault, then, is it—"

Renjun whirls around, thrusting his racquet in Donghyuck's face. "Well if this is how you've all been acting, then no fucking wonder you've never made it to the leagues."

Donghyuck's face darkens like a storm. "Fuck you, Renjun—fucking say that again—"

"You're all acting like the world is over," Renjun snaps, his grip on his racquet handle going white-knuckle tight. "You don't know what it's like to give up something for something bigger."

"That's not fair, Renjun," Mark says quietly, and Donghyuck lets out a snarl. But before he can get anything else out, Jaemin steps forward, every line of his body threaded with tension.

"You know nothing," he says, voice low and deliberate. "Of what I've given up."

Donghyuck's hand clenches in a fist, and Jisung lets out a hushed exhale. Renjun frowns, looking around at the visible, tangible shudder that goes around the court. "What?" he demands. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Donghyuck looks away, folds his arms over his chest. "There are certain things, Renjun, that you hold onto. No matter what the cost."

Anger blooms in Renjun's chest like a flower, delicate and fragile. "If you give me that team bullshit one more time, I'm going to punch you in the fucking mouth."

"Go right the fuck ahead," Donghyuck snarls, throwing himself into Renjun's space. "Go ahead, asshole—I'd pick a team like this over Vision any fucking day—"

Renjun's patience snaps, and he shoves himself right back, fisting a hand in Donghyuck's practice jersey. "There is no one that fucking _stupid_ enough to turn down Vision for a shit-for-nothing team like this. No one."

And then a vice-like grip clamps down around his shoulder, and Renjun finds himself being thrown back, glares up at Jaemin standing there, all quiet, simmering rage.

Jaemin just glares back at him. "I did."

The entire court goes dead silent. Renjun lets go of Donghyuck's jersey, staring at the others. They're all avoiding his eyes except for Jaemin, who is staring him straight down.

"What?" Renjun must not have heard correctly. "What the fuck?"

Jaemin takes several steps forward, getting up in Renjun's space. "There is nothing, _nothing_ , that I wouldn't give up for this team. Not even Vision." He turns on his heel and storms off the court, leaving Renjun standing there speechless.

"Tell me he's joking—" Renjun bites out. "Tell me—he did _not_ turn down Vision."

Mark rubs the back of his neck. "Jaemin's gotten an offer every single year he's been here. Every single year, he turns them down."

And, then—in those next swollen and tender moments—all Renjun can do is stare at him. At all of them, at the gap that Jaemin had left behind. The pieces falling into place, bit by bit, everything crystallizing and coalescing into a single definitive truth. A truth thrown suddenly into the sharpest of relief, this truth that simultaneously throws everything Renjun had ever thought about Jaemin into both complete disarray and sterile order. Jaemin, whose plays had always been beyond the horizons of anything Renjun could have ever conceptualized. Jaemin, who—time and time again—would take all of Renjun's anger, the weaponized fury, like blows to the chest. Jaemin, who did not—and should not—have to stay, when he could have had so much more. Jaemin, who _was_ more. 

Renjun throws down his racquet and runs back into the locker room without saying another word. And when he gets in, Jaemin's back is to him as he stands in front of his locker.

Renjun stops in the doorway, gripping the doorjamb with lungs that are about to burst. "You're lying," he says, hushed and breathless—like the reverence will transmute his words into truth.

Jaemin steps back, and Renjun can finally see right into Jaemin's locker, where the very back of it is papered with something. Renjun steps closer, close enough to see what they are—offer letters from Vision, scholarship grant letters, more.

Every single word in Renjun's mouth goes dry. "I don't—I don't understand—Vision is the best team in the league, how could you just—"

Jaemin turns around to level his gaze at him. "There are some things—" he says. "Worth holding onto. Once you find them."

Renjun swallows, the guilt and the shame burning the back of his throat like hot oil. "Why—why even keep the letters then? If you were never going to say yes. Why keep them?"

Jaemin brings his eyes up to his, and Renjun sucks a breath in between his teeth. "I keep them so I can see them every time I open my locker. So—every time—I can look at them and think about the choices that I've made, and ask myself if it was all worth it. If losing this—" Jaemin gestures to the letters papering the back of his locker. "All of this—has been worth it."

Renjun can barely breathe. The things worth holding onto—his dreams, his secrets. The parts of himself that he'd cut away to streamline, to ready himself for the fight he'd told himself achieving his dreams would take. A means to an end. That's what he'd told himself. This team is just a means to an end. "So—?" Even to himself, his voice sounds so very far away. "Is it worth it?"

Jaemin looks Renjun directly in the eyes. "Every single damn time."

And Renjun is speechless, no fight left in him, thinking that there couldn't possibly be any more left to say, and Jaemin continues.

"I've made my choices, Renjun, and I stand by them. Years from now—" He looks Renjun in the eyes. "Will you stand by yours?"

The silence courses through him, thick and viscous, and Renjun feels like Jaemin's gaze is keeping him there, trapped to the spot, unable to move or to speak. The truth starkly revealed, the white of his bones shining through, all the skin peeled back.

Then Renjun breaks his paralysis and runs.

He doesn't think. He doesn't know where he's going. All Renjun knows is that he is running, running somewhere far from here, somewhere far from the prison of that tiny little locker room with peeling green paint, away from that horrifying, numbing truth, away from Jaemin and those eyes, trapping him there, x-ray vision.

Renjun runs, aimless, eyes streaming from the evening air, not paying attention to where his legs are taking him. The stadium grows smaller and smaller behind him, and Renjun just keeps running, ignoring the pounding of his heart or the screaming of his legs, heavy like iron. He runs.

Renjun runs, and he doesn't look back.

He throws open the door without thinking, and finds Jeno packing his things into boxes.

Jeno looks up, startled, and Renjun winces, taking a step back.

"I—what are you doing?" he demands, before he can stop himself. It's very clear what Jeno is doing.

Jeno holds his gaze for a moment, before sighing, a depressing weary sound. "I'm moving back in with Jaemin and Jisung. Since you'll be gone and all," he adds, very quietly. "This way they won't have to expense another room just for one player."

Renjun swallows thickly, unsure if he should be feeling sorry or not. For a moment, Renjun almost asks him if he wanted help packing, but thinks better of it.

He tries not to think about the ways his departure will change the way the team moves forward. How they'll essentially won't be a team anymore, not without a full lineup at least. The way that Jeno will have to go back to living with two other people, the way that Donghyuck and Mark will never see the court of semifinals, the failure that Taeyong will have to live with. Another attempt to build an exy team worth believing in, failed.

Renjun drifts into an uneasy sleep, the sounds of Jeno packing his boxes his background noise.

The next time that Renjun shows up to practice, the stadium is completely empty. He checks his phone, wondering if he had, for some reason, maybe mixed up the time, but it's still correct. It's their schedule practice time, but no one is here at the stadium.

He tries poking his head into the locker rooms, but doesn't see anyone in there either. Taeyong is not in his office either.

He leaves the stadium, feeling incredibly stupid, but since he's already in his training clothes he decides to make use of the time. Especially now that he has all this restless energy and no where to channel it.

Renjun goes running for forty minutes, doing laps outside the stadium to try to take his mind off everything. It isn't until he's on his cool-down jog, circling around the perimeter of the stadium building, does he see out of the corner of his eye a small group heading towards the court.

Renjun stops a ways away from the stadium, panting, and puts his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. And when he looks up again, everything tightens up. He hadn't been mistaken. The group is his team, walking to practice as if everything was normal. But that wasn't the case—they're all an hour late. And for another moment, Renjun wonders if maybe it had been something fucked up with his clock, but as the group gets closer he gets small snippets of their conversation.

"Are you sure about this?"

"We've already not gone at the normal time, we can't take it back now. And it's not like it fucking matters anyway. He's as good as gone, so it's not like we have to take him into consideration for our practice times anyway."

"There's no point in practicing anymore. We're not even going to get to play."

"Coach said it's good to keep a strict routine, so I mean there's that—"

"You know Jeno, sometimes I wish you weren't so far up Taeyong's ass—"

Renjun clenches his jaw as the group disappears into the building. So they'd changed the time of practice without telling him. That's fine, he doesn't need to practice with them anyway. It's just like what Donghyuck'd said—they owe him nothing now, not that Renjun ever wanted them to owe him anything in the first place.

And he'll make do alone. Just as he always has.

Renjun pauses in the doorway, heart a steady drum line behind his ribs, watching the way the rest of them move—all one entity, synchronized to the maximum. Mark runs up to Jaemin to score, the ball deflects off Jaemin's net and flies up court to where Donghyuck is waiting, poised to catch. One after another in smooth succession, the scoring drills continue.

It's Jeno who sees him first, wiping the sweat from his brow and going still. The others look up slowly, one by one going silent. The entire stadium feels like it's blanketed by seven feet of quietude. Renjun swallows thickly, grips the handle of his racquet so hard his fingers ache. He should turn back. He could, he has. Many times before. It's awful and humiliating and Renjun could turn around and walk out on them, but that would mean backing down and Renjun is not coward. And Jaemin is refusing to look at him, and that—above all else—is what makes his legs move, forces him to stalk over to an empty corner of the court and sit down to start stretching. He's pretty sure he's shaking, but he can't see what's going on behind him as he goes through the stretching routine from memory.

Over his shoulder, the sounds of shoes on polished hardwood are the only signs that the drill has started up again. Steeling himself, Renjun forces himself to turn around again. No one is looking at him anymore, all of their focus and energy going to the scoring drill that Taeyong's putting them through. Taeyong is sitting in the bleachers on the other side of the stadium, fingers folded over his clipboard and watching the drill with keen, observant eyes. He does not pay Renjun any heed. Renjun supposes that this, too, is what he deserves.

Instead, Renjun sets his jaw and begins to practice by himself, the entire situation feeling strangely reversed, the way it was at the beginning when the team was more broken bones than skeleton. He'd kept a ball in his bag for the last few months, getting that out now to practice with it, aiming his throws at certain spots on the plexiglass, listening to the reverb of it as it bounces back off the wall for him to catch.

It continues like this for a little while, Renjun silently making his way over to the new practice location, putting his things over to the side of the floor. Practicing by himself. None of them ever quite acknowledge him when he comes in, always ten to fifteen minutes after they've started, and Taeyong too does not say anything.

But one day, as Renjun takes a step back for a moment after the force of the ball springing back to him sends him backwards one step, Renjun chances a turn around, observes the practice going on behind him. It's another scoring drill, every player trying to take a shot at Jaemin. Just like the one they'd been doing when Renjun first came in, uninvited but there to practice never the less. Out of the corner of his eye, Renjun sees a small movement towards his side of the court, and turns to see Mark slowly inching over to the center, to where the dealer generally hovers. At first, Renjun can't quite understand why he's doing this—Mark leaving a hole in the offense, an obvious gap that could be exploited by the other team's strikers. And it doesn't make sense, because Mark is a better player than this. He should know better.

But then Mark shifts, slightly. Turns his head just the slightest bit over his shoulder toward where Renjun is standing, in his own little corner, at the other side of the court. And then Renjun realizes, with a startling and horrifying rush of clarity, that Mark has not left a hole at all. He's left room.

Renjun stares at the space that Mark has blocked out for him, and grips his racquet in both hands. Mark's attention is back to the drill, and either no one else has seemed to notice what he's done or no one cares. But Renjun knows an opening when he sees one. He knows an opening, and that's what this is, this small sequestered circle of space that Mark has left for him, and if Renjun wants it—if he wants it—

A loud smack rings out through the stadium, and Renjun looks up in time to see a ball come flying through the air from the other side of the court, and it's only practice-hardened instinct that gets his racquet up in the nick of the time, the ball settling heavy in his net, the thrum of catch going down the handle and into his bones.

He looks up to see five faces staring at him, and the gap next to Mark is that much more obvious now. Renjun grips his racquet, and walks forward out of his corner into the gap that Mark left, readies himself, and passes the ball to Jaemin.

Jaemin catches it easily, his face an indecipherable mask, all business efficiency as he proceeds with the drill, tossing the ball back to Jisung for a shot. The back of Renjun's neck burns, a hot and oily warmth that spreads down to his limbs, and he watches as the rest of the drill unfolds as normal, the ball going back and forth from every other player to Jaemin. Jisung, Jeno, Mark, Donghyuck. And then, finally, the ball is back with Jaemin and everything seems to come to a pause as Jaemin takes a good, long look at Renjun.

This is where Renjun will find out if it it's been worth it, if Jaemin will pass to him or not.

Jaemin sets the end of his racquet down on the floor, the ball clutched in his gloved hand.

"Renjun," he says, his voice ringing out low and resounding in the quiet. "What are you doing?"

It seems like such a simple question, but Renjun knows that it is anything but. He can feel the weight of everyone's gaze on him, the heaviness of expectation. The silence following Jaemin's question is even worse, ringing in his ears, and Renjun does now know how to tell them what he really wants to say. He doesn't know how to put into words his wants, his fears, the secret desires he's been carrying tucked in between his ribs like love confessions.

Renjun swallows, every inch of him going up in smoke alarms, and looks at Jaemin, the crease of his brow, the hard, fine set of his jaw, arms crossed tight in front of him. Then looks—somehow—behind Jaemin, behind the entire court up at Taeyong sitting there in the bleachers with his hair a disheveled mess and mouth tight and strained. Renjun exhales sharply through his nose, feeling his feet grip the floorboards, locked stance, settled.

He has never been good with apologies, not without putting lemon in with the honey. A caustic bite to something that's supposed to soothe, that's supposed to be sincere. Renjun doesn't know if any of them understand that it's not that his heart is calcified with misuse or grating rough against the undersides of his ribs, but that it is swollen and tender and flushed hot with guilt, pumping it throughout his body, against the spikes that he wears inside out. Renjun looks around again at the others and feels the exoskeleton split clean in half, and he would bleed out onto the floor if he could.

"I—" Renjun licks his lips, his grip around the handle going vice-like and white knuckled, and he looks up again past Jaemin straight at Taeyong, looking at him and locking eyes. Taeyong's brow furrows, and Renjun's words fail him. "I'm—I'm buying a car that I can't afford."

It only takes a second for the words to register, Taeyong's mouth going slack and his eyes wide, and the recognition dawns in his face like a sunrise. With a clatter, Taeyong's clipboard slips from his hands to land at his feet, and Renjun is holding onto his racquet like it will keep him afloat, waiting for any kind of reaction, any sign that Taeyong understands, anything—

And then Taeyong, incredibly, starts to laugh—loud, full, from the belly. He is laughing, the team turns to stare at him, bewildered. They're looking at Taeyong like he's crazy—all of them except for Jaemin.

Jaemin has his eyes locked onto Renjun, staring at him straight in the face, like he's see-through. Renjun steels himself, braces for the words to come, defensive mode up, walls at the ready, but then Jaemin holds up the ball, wordless. Fits it neatly against the flat netting of his racquet, and swings. A pass.

Renjun catches the ball easily this time, not by accident. This was a true pass. For a moment, he just looks at the ball in his net, but then he gets into position, knees bent, body low. Aims a shot at Jaemin. The drill continues. No one says anything, but things keep moving.

Onwards, forwards.

The moment practice ends, Renjun hesitates, watching them all file away towards the locker room. He'd been spending the last few days leaving well before the end of the new practice time, so he wouldn't have to deal with this, but Jeno casts him a glance over his shoulder, and it's open, inviting, so Renjun picks up his bag and follows.

They change in silence, Renjun going to his old locker and wrenching it open. No one says a word as they pack up their things, but somehow it isn't uncomfortable. Jisung leaves first, his shoes squeaking as he walks out. Donghyuck slams his locker closed, and Renjun tenses for a moment, but then Donghyuck's shoulder knocks gently into his, almost playfully. Jeno closes his locker as well, and he is less subtle about it, giving him a giant grin as he leaves. Mark, too, gives him a nod before heading out, and then finally it is only Renjun and Jaemin left in the locker room, back to back.

Jaemin closes his locker and leans up against it, arms crossed. He doesn't say anything, just watching him.

Renjun's face burns, but he turns away, stooping down to fish out something from his bag. It's his offer letter from Vision. And, with his back to Jaemin, Renjun shoves his things aside as he tapes the letter up on the back of his locker, mirror image of Jaemin's. And when he's done, Renjun steps back to look at it, the crisp white parchment against the peeling green paint. For a few moments, Jaemin says nothing.

Then, footsteps. Slow and halting. A hand encloses around the knob of Renjun's shoulder. He tenses, but doesn't try to fight it when Jaemin turns him around slowly, deliberately. His gaze is even, but his eyes are thunderous loud, cutting him down to ribbons.

"There's no turning back," Jaemin says quietly. "If you do this. If this is what you want."

Renjun takes a deep breath and holds his ground. He juts his jaw up and stares back at him, every inch of him resolute. "I'll tell you what I want," he says. "I want to play exy against the best team in the league. And I want to win."

For a moment, Jaemin doesn't respond, his eyes sweeping over Renjun's face with the same intensity Renjun saw that first night, the fire that he fans in all of them, in Renjun, deep in his belly. Jaemin leans forward, their foreheads barely inches apart. His hand on Renjun's is a comforting weight.

"Then give your game to me," Jaemin tells him. He squeezes. "To us."

Renjun has never backed down from a challenge, even when it got the best of him. He's not backing down now, but maybe the difference is knowing that this won't have to come with a fight. He can run head on to face this, and it will be different this time.

His voice is barely just a whisper. "And?"

"And—" Renjun feels the hot press of Jaemin's forehead against his, just the barest connection of skin. His heart is miles away now, running off without him, but Jaemin is here now, in front of him, grounding him, asking him to stay. "I'll give you what you want, and more."

Renjun has only ever asked for that much. He thinks that he could stay.

"Donghyuck," Mark says, exasperated. "You'll be out there in five minutes. Come back over here."

"I'm assessing the crowds," Donghyuck says from where he's standing in locker room exit, getting up onto his tip toes as he shades his eyes. "I think there are like—five people from our school—"

"I mean, it's an away game," Jisung says dubiously. "What'd you expect?"

Donghyuck tsks, going over to ruffle Jisung's hair. "I can't wait until when Jaemin's captain, and he really will put your ass to work, punk—"

Mark rolls his eyes, going back to tightening the laces on his racquet net. Back by the lockers, Renjun pulls on his last glove, flexing his fingers when he's done, and gets up from where he's sitting to join Donghyuck at the entrance.

Donghyuck is right—the crowds filling the bleachers are clad mostly in a shimmering, twinkling gold. Every so often there are small pinpricks of vivid green—fans of theirs that had traveled with the team to see them play—but it's a daunting audience. It's a daunting game.

Renjun looks away to see Donghyuck watching him closely. He meets his eyes, and Donghyuck gives him a wry smile.

"Lot of Vision fans, Huang. Can you keep your cool today?"

Renjun feels the corners of his mouth quirk up just the slightest bit. "I should be asking you that."

Donghyuck's affronted scoff is lost upon him as Renjun goes back inside to grab his racquet, picking it up and wrapping his fingers around the handle. As always, it feels right in his hands, the line of green paint gleaming up at him from under his fingers.

"So."

Renjun turns around to see Jaemin standing there in his gear, everything on save for his helmet. He's holding his racquet in his hand, the top of the net almost coming up to his shoulders. 

Renjun raises an eyebrow, takes a step back. "So," he echoes.

"We're here," Jaemin says, matter of fact. "Playing exy against the best team in the league. I got you what you wanted."

"What I wanted—" Renjun says, mouth curling up. "Is to win. In case you forgot."

Jaemin returns the smirk, sharp as a knife. "In that case, there's only one thing left to do."

They're interrupted by Taeyong coming in to give them all a fierce smile. "Ready?"

And, as Renjun lines up with the others, staring out across center court at the other line of players in front of them, Renjun supposes that there won't ever be a point at which he'll feel ready—but that's the best thing about the game.

Across the other side of the half-court line, Chenle catches Renjun's eye, and gives him an approving nod. "Looks like I'll have to settle for playing against you."

"Looks like it," Renjun says, cracking his knuckles. A smirk drags across his face. "At least, for now."

Chenle's answering grin is positively rakish.

Jaemin digs into Renjun's side with the head of his racquet as they get into their starting positions, and Renjun shoves back, looking back at him irritatedly.

"For now?" Jaemin asks, arching a brow at him before stepping back into his goal. "What's this—having second thoughts?"

Renjun turns around and takes a good long look at Team Vision in front of them, resplendid in their uniform colors, the gold and white home uniforms making them look just a little bit like royalty.

Renjun doesn't want to be royalty. Royalty means a throne, and thrones are just for the taking. He's here to stage a coup, a revolution.

The shaft of his racquet weights heavy in his hand. So maybe this is something he'll hold onto.

"Never," Renjun says, as the whistle blows, and—this time—he means it.

**Author's Note:**

> happy aries season ☆☆☆
> 
> giant shout out to crys ♡ i could not have done this without you!!!
> 
> thank you so much for reading, and i hope you enjoyed! please remember to support fic writers by leaving comments!
> 
> [twt](http://twitter.com/plosionlateral) | [cc](http://curiouscat.me/wayschanged)


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